Standard of Care
by Kathy-SFF
Summary: BSG 2003. I decided Commander Adama needed to give his point of view Completed (finally). Be advised of the change in the rating, it may be a PG-13 but I wanted to be on the safe side.
1. Doctor's Orders

Here goes another attempt. Thanks to Lona who beta read this for me. This is what happens when I keep getting moofed from chat and must vent my frustrations G. I plan this to be several chapters each dealing with the Battlestar Galactica characters as seen through the eyes of someone we never saw on the mini-series G. Battlestar Galactica belongs to Glen Larson and Ron Moore. The Lenna Dell is stolen from Crys (If I can steal spidercats from Lona why not a whole ship? What will be next?). BTW if Ron Moore can swap character genders..  
  
"Standard of Care" by Lt Kathy "Doc"  
  
Chapter 1  
  
When I was a medical student those older and wiser would say, "Kylen, you have to remember this. The later you stay, the later you stay." It's nice to know some things never change, even in the post-apocalyptic world the 12 colonies have become.  
  
Thank the Lords for scrubs and sneakers. I would be dead if I had to wear a dress and heels for over 24 hours. I had planned a short shift today given that I had spent the night treating a deck hand who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place when a lift stopped working and a few hundred pounds of metal went crashing down on his leg. He's doing better although it's still too early to tell about his recovery. Reminder to self: consult Dr. Tanis on the Lenna Dell about rehabilitation.  
  
Anyway, here I sit, my desk littered with charts, medical supply requisitions, and requests for stationing medical personal aboard other colonial vessels. I started this about three hours ago and the pile is not getting smaller. Does paperwork reproduce asexually? If anyone had told me that I would be the Chief Medical Officer on a ready-to-be decommissioned battlestar and that its' Life Station would be considered a state-of-the-art medical facility I would have sent him to the ninth floor at Picon Fleet Hospital (medical slang for the psychiatric unit).  
  
My posting to Galactica had started out as temporary, a favor because the original Chief was committed to leaving the colonial fleet for private practice and the decommissioning had been postponed for a few more weeks. In my former role as Chief of Trauma and Critical Care at Picon Fleet Hospital, I had needed to know if the Life Stations were working as they should and meeting the medical needs of the fleet. So I volunteered to fill in the few weeks and at the same time assess an operating Life Station, killing two birds with one stone. Now here I am, alive, all due to some chance. Oh by the way, my name is Commander Kaylen Salik, MD, Chief Medical Officer aboard the Battlestar Galactica.  
  
The smell of coffee fills the air. Even though I know coffee is getting scarce, I allow myself the guilty pleasure of a morning cup. (I have a secret stash for my own private use and grind my own beans.) As I pour I hear a cough from behind me. Damn, that man is quiet and either has ESP, or my office video wired. He always manages to time his visits during my coffee break. Without turning to my visitor I state, "Commander, please come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?"  
  
I have found Commander Adama to be a tough but fair man. I respect him. That's not to say we have not had differences of opinion, but with the exception of the time I wanted to integrate the Life Station's computers, our relationship has been very smooth. Unusual given that in the past other superiors have found me somewhat difficult to work with.  
  
Commander William Adama walks into my office and sits while speaking "Yes. Thank you doctor. I wanted to talk to you about some issues that have been brought to my attention. This shouldn't take long. You look tired and I know you had a long night. How is crewman Mannis doing?" I take an irreverent moment to think they should bottle his voice and sell it. Lords, I must be more tired than I thought.  
  
"He's going to keep the leg, but I'm still not sure how functional it's going to be. I plan to consult with a rehab specialist on the Lenna Dell in a few days." I state and hand him his coffee. He gives the mug a double take. I guess I should have used the one with Picon Fleet Hospital insignia instead of the one that reads: Doctors have great bedside manners. He takes his coffee black. We all do now that dairy products are scarce. I hate black coffee, yet I still drink it. Talk about an addiction.  
  
He takes a sip from the cup, closes his eyes and sighs. "You make the best coffee on the whole ship. This tastes better than ambrosia." I wonder if he knows about my secret "medicinal" supply. I take a moment to look at the man across from me. Commander Adama, the "Old Man" as many on this ship refer to him, looks tired. I can see dark circles under his eyes and he seems to have lost a bit of weight. Hmmm, going to have to address that, but first things first.  
  
We discuss the medical supply shortage, and timetables for training and classes in medical first aid and advanced life support so that all the fleet can have a few people trained on each ship. We also go through the number of baby deliveries and pregnancies. This meeting is winding down so I decide to take the bull by the horns.  
  
"Commander, since you're here I want to bring to your attention that all the crew physicals have been done with the exception of one. You're the only person who has not had their physical. I know I sent you notification about 3 weeks ago."  
  
I get the standard "I've been very busy." "Why can't we put this off for now until things settle down?" "I'm sure you have more than enough work." He eyes my desk and makes a sweeping gesture with his hand to include my office and the Life Station. Damn, I'm going to have to play hardball. Although I wonder given that he is The Commander, can the ship doctor's orders supercede his? I can only try. "You know, I can make this an order." The room suddenly seems very quiet and the temperature drops about 10 degrees. He gives me the "Command Stare". I, however did not become the youngest division chief at Picon Fleet Hospital because I crumble and I stare him right back.  
  
He rises to his feet and so do I. He sighs and looks down at me. He has me on height by about 5 inches. "Ok, doctor, when do you want to arrange it?"  
  
"Now is as good a time as any"  
  
I get the big stare again. "You're tired and need to sleep. This is not a top priority."  
  
"You're the commander of this ship and the fleet. If you get sick it becomes a big problem. Look, a physical takes about 20 to 40 minutes. Is there anything especially pressing in CIC that Col. Tigh cannot handle? A few minutes now and you don't have to see me for another year aside from boring meetings," I cajole and give him my most winning smile. Which is probably not too effective given that I am in scrubs, my short hair is askew from the nap I took a short while ago, and I am not wearing any makeup. Thank the Lords I brushed my teeth and washed my face. You know, in the vids doctors always look great even post call.  
  
He sighs and I smell victory in the air. "Ok, doctor, let's get this over with." He looks like he is about to take the Galactica into battle against the Cylons.  
  
I lead him down the hall to an exam room and try not to gloat. I give him the standard line to undress, put on the exam gown, and that I will be back in a few minutes. When I reenter the room he is sitting on the exam table, wearing the standard examination gown, and looking extremely uncomfortable. I quickly go through the usual questions. Aside from some more frequent headaches he denies everything. I check his vitals, check his vision, and complete the rest of the physical exam. You know, for a man his age he's in pretty good shape, he must work out, although not to excess. Kylen! Get your mind out of the gutter and back on business. I really must be tired. I ask him to meet me in my office when he is ready. Ha! It only took 35 minutes.  
  
When he is seated I begin. "You have lost about 5 pounds, your blood pressure is slightly elevated and I think you need to have your eyes re- evaluated. Aside from that you are in great health. You can have your eyes looked at when the specialist from the Lenna Dell comes next week. I am going to want to follow that blood pressure for now, although I think the weight loss and the blood pressure are due to stress. You need to take time to eat and time off to relax, and I do not mean reading reports over supper. You need to take some time off for yourself. Set aside time to exercise, read a good book. If you want I can let you borrow a few of mine."  
  
I get the big stare, then a smile crosses his face and I have the feeling that he knows something I don't. "While I appreciate the offer doctor I doubt I would find romance novels to my taste."  
  
WHAT? How did he know about my one great (ok, not one) secret? I love to read those trashy Caprican romance novels. If I find out who told him, they are very dead, and as a doctor I know a lot of creative ways to make it happen. I try to collect myself and calmly state "I don't know what you are talking about. I was referring to some murder/mystery novels I have." He is about to speak when all hell breaks loose.  
  
A very pregnant woman is being helped into the Life Station, by a Galactica marine. She is screaming, "NO! I'm not due yet! Where is Joe? I want Joe here now!"  
  
The marine heads for the door as Cassie, one of my medical technicians, tries to help her onto a bed. The woman is fighting everyone and still screaming. Both Commander Adama and I leave my office. I am about to speak when a voice of authority fills the air. "Lt. Ares, what's going on here?"  
  
You can suddenly hear a pin drop. The young woman gulps, and looking shocked, allows Cassie to get her into bed and put an IV in. While my team and I get things together, Adama comes over to the bedside and takes her hand. She stammers, "My due date is next week, sir. This is too early. Joe, I mean Lt. Harris, my husband, is flying patrol. I'm not ready for this."  
  
He looks at her and says in that low gravelly voice of his, "You do know that the baby is the one in charge of this mission? Let the medics and doctor get you comfortable and take a look at you. I'll go over and call CIC to see if we can get Lt. Harris in from patrol and find a replacement for him."  
  
Since when did I lose control of the Life Station? As he leaves we efficiently pull the curtains, get her into a gown and get all the monitors in place. "You're going to be fine. I just have to ask you some questions and do an examination," I state. The rest passes quickly. I tell Cassie to time the contractions.  
  
Adama comes back and quietly pulls me aside. "How is she? Is she going to deliver?"  
  
"She has been having contractions all morning but she told herself that they were Braxton-Hicks, uh I mean false labor pains. She is almost fully dilated and effaced. She is having that baby now. Any word on the father?"  
  
"He is being recalled now but he's still about 20 minutes away. What can I do to help?"  
  
I give him a grateful look. Not many people would want to be around a woman in labor. "You know that because of the supply shortages we don't use medications to dull the pain except in extreme situations. She listens to you and is calmer with you around. If nothing is pressing can you stay, hold her hand, and talk to her?" I knew I was asking a lot but Lt. Gina Ares had already shown herself to be very excitable and I was going to take any help offered.  
  
He nods and stations himself at her side. As we prepare I am aware of their voices through the normal sounds that accompany a delivery.  
  
"Lt. Harris will be here soon. However, the doctor says you're ready to deliver now."  
  
"Lords it hurts!"  
  
"Just hold my hand. Pant when the contractions hit." Lords, the man could run a birthing class with that voice. I know from his records he had two sons. I wonder if he got the delivery room experience then.  
  
"I am NEVER going through this again. It's all Joe's fault. Next time HE can have the baby!"  
  
"From what I hear this is going to make Capt Kelly a rich man. He is the one that chose today as your due date in the pool." That's it Commander good strategy, distracting her. He must be something to see in CIC during a battle.  
  
"What?? They're BETTING on my...AHHHH!!"  
  
"You know Dr Salik is one of the best. We were lucky to get her on Galactica." I decide now is not the time to tell the Commander my opinion of the OB-GYN rotation and the fact I had to review all the OB vids prior to my first delivery.  
  
A sound and gasp from behind me tells me the father has arrived. He takes up his station on Lt. Ares' other side and grabs her hand, but Gina is unwilling to let go of the Commander's. Things fortunately progress quickly and I find myself presenting Lts. Harris and Ares with their healthy baby daughter. A very tired Gina and her husband profusely thank the Commander for all he did. Hey, I helped too! What about me?  
  
We leave the new family alone. As Adama moves to leave I stop him saying "Let's go to my office. I promise no more doctor's orders." He nods and follows me. I close the door and go around my desk to the lower right hand drawer. I see his eyebrows raise in question as I take from around my neck a small chain with a key on it. I unlock the drawer and remove two small glasses and an old bottle of Canceran ambrosia.  
  
"You aren't planning to report me are you?" I ask.  
  
He smiles but when he speaks his voice is dead serious "I think given the circumstances I can make an exception. That is as long as you plan to share."  
  
I pour a small amount into each glass and hand one to him. "Congratulations, Commander, on your first delivery. If you ever decide to give up command, you can have a job here in the Life Station. One word from you and calm reigns."  
  
He chuckles. Did I say that his laugh is even better than his voice? Lords, I need sleep. He goes on to say, "We make a good team, and I will take your advice. Why don't we toast the newest member of the Galactica?" We raise our glasses as he continues, "May the Lords watch over and protect this new soul who has joined the human race."  
  
I respond, "So say we all." Ahh ambrosia. Nothing quiet like it.  
  
"Now, doctor, you look about ready to fall over. I order you to get some sleep, and then some food. For that matter you can join me in the officers' mess for dinner at 1800, just so you can assure yourself I am following your orders." I take and clean the glasses then put both them and the bottle away and lock the drawer.  
  
"Yes, sir," I respond. We leave my office and the Life Station together. I watch him head off to CIC. The longer I know him the more I admire him. He manages not only to command, but somehow gets to know his people. I wonder why he never made Admiral, and then think about the Admirals I have known. Best not go there. Oh well, I better get some sleep. It's not good to disobey orders, and I have a "date" with the Commander.  
  
End 


	2. Dinner & Dr Baltar

The people of Battlestar Galactica as seen through the eyes of a character never seen in the mini-series. Glen Larson and Ron Moore own Battlestar Galactica. I have stolen Author Haddenbock and his painting "The Destruction of Scorpolios" from Lona. (Will my shameless pilfering never cease?) I got some Baltar inspiration from Scotter Kitty's Flight of the Bellerophon. (Nothing is sacred from my sticky fingers.) Of course the Lenna Dell belongs to Crys (for now). If you are a Baltar fan I would recommend not reading this. You have been warned.  
  
Standard of Care by Lt Kathy "Doc"  
  
Chapter 2: Dinner and Dr Baltar  
  
Ahh. Sleep, a shower and I'm human again. Now what to wear on my "date" with the Commander? Hmmm, let's see, I have it narrowed down to my day uniform with the gold stud earrings or my day uniform with the birthstone earrings. Better wear the gold studs as they match my medical insignia, the caduceus. I look myself over in the small mirror. I see nothing special. Short brown hair with a few gray ones scattered at the temples, tired brown eyes, and more than a few laugh lines around the mouth and eyes. Time to leave.  
  
As I close the hatch and begin my walk to the officers' mess I see the Commander heading in my direction. "Sir, what are you doing over in medico country?" I ask. "Since I ordered you to dinner, the least I could do would be to pick you up." And they say chivalry is dead.  
  
Our conversation on the way to the officers' mess is general. I ask about his day and he asks how long I slept. I'm laughing about his description of a problem in CIC as we enter the mess. It takes me a few seconds, but I realize all conversation has stopped and all eyes are on me. Well, not really me, but the Commander. Sheesh, you'd think no one had ever seen the Commander eat dinner. A horrible thought enters my head. "Commander, how often do you eat in the officers' mess?" I ask.  
  
"This is the first time. I usually eat in my quarters while.."  
  
"...looking over reports." I finish.  
  
He shrugs his shoulders and looks around the room. "Is there a problem here?" he asks.  
  
Everyone promptly goes back to eating with a scattering of "No Sir". Even I can hear the capital letters.  
  
We enter the food line. Thank the Lords that today we have real food and not the protein supplements. He begins to place some items on his tray. I have to admit the food is bad but his choice of the noodle soup with a few crackers is definitely not going to help. I put back his soup and crackers and neatly place a dish of Taurian carrots on his tray saying, "I got your blood work back. You have some vitamin levels that are low. Besides carrots are good for your eyes." Who knew I would eventually be reduced to spouting the home wisdom of my mother? I could have just stayed at home and not gone to medical school. I add what looks to be a chicken fillet with something green to his tray as well.  
  
"Thank you, mother," he wryly states.  
  
I shrug my shoulders. "You dine with your doctor, you pay the price. Here, you better take that apple for dessert."  
  
"Are you going to tell me to wash behind my ears and brush my teeth next?"  
  
"Your ears and teeth are fine. Your nutrition leaves a lot to be desired. And don't think that giving me the big brown eyes or using that bedroom voice is going to get you out of this." Oh crap. Did I just say that? To my commanding officer? I am so never going to go anywhere, with anyone when I am still sleep deprived. I pray for a medical emergency, but nothing happens.  
  
He is chuckling as he answers. "Bedroom voice? Did I hear you right?"  
  
Where are the Cylons when you need them? "Forget I said anything. I tend to speak first and think later when I am sleep deprived. Here, take that protein bar for a late night snack."  
  
I have no idea why but he lets me off the hook. As we move to a table I notice several eyes following us. I do my best to ignore them. While we eat our conversation is general, and covers many topics. He is extremely well read and has a wide range of interests. He is currently trying to explain how a lowly commander came by an original Haddenbock. Not only an original, but one of my personal favorites, "The Destruction of Scorpolios". I had only managed to see it in books. I really want to hear this but for some unknown reason I happen to glance at Dr Baltar sitting alone across the mess.  
  
Dr. Baltar. No one can deny the man is brilliant. Watching him now I begin to wonder if anyone can say he is entirely sane. On his initial visit to my office he was nervous but otherwise ok. Since then Dr. Baltar had been coming up on the medical radar more often. Usually through gossip with the techs swearing they heard Baltar talking to someone when no one was around. More recently others have noticed this behavior. Last week a concerned Lt. Gaeta from CIC came down to report that Baltar had definitely been talking to himself but when questioned denied everything. Dr. Baltar also missed his appointment with me 2 days ago.  
  
I covertly watch Baltar. His long hair is unkempt and I know I look better post call than he does now. What I find more disturbing is his conversation. He is talking to himself. I use the term conversation loosely; it's more like a heated argument complete with hand gestures and head shaking. Now we all talk to ourselves. I'm as guilty as the next. But this goes beyond the norm. He talks and then stops for long periods, as if listening to a speaker answer. His eyes are definitely focused on his "invisible" partner. Just when I think things cannot get weirder I watch his face turn to panic and then slowly relax into an expression of (dare I say?) bliss, his eyes glazing over. From where I sit I can count his increasing respirations, and watch as his head falls back, and perspiration and a flush cover his face. If I didn't know that he was alone and in the mess, I would swear that he is getting a great lap dance from one of those top class strippers in the Caprica City red district. This is beyond my knowledge of post-traumatic stress disorder, and right in the weird category. When a doctor starts thinking weird, you know it's not good.  
  
I jump as the Commander touches my arm. "I am sorry to be such a boring dinner companion. I tend to get carried away. You were miles away just now."  
  
"You're a great dinner companion and the conversation so far has been wonderful. Sorry my attention wandered, but I was just looking at Dr. Baltar."  
  
The Commander gives me a tuned down version of "the stare" that passes into a "go ahead and explain" look.  
  
"What's your opinion of him?" I ask.  
  
"Am I to assume you are asking this for purely professional reasons?"  
  
Where did that come from? He can't think I'm interested in Baltar. Yech. I almost gag at the implication I would be asking about Baltar for anything even remotely close to personal reasons. There is no comparison between Dr. Gaius Baltar and my current dinner companion. How do I make this better?  
  
"Sorry to switch to business. My interest is strictly professional. His behavior of late is concerning and seems to be deteriorating. I want your input."  
  
He relaxes back in his chair and gathers his thoughts. "He has always struck me as high-strung. Very nervous and, ... there's something I can't put my finger on. He is brilliant that's not in doubt. He was the one who recognized that the Cylons were using his CNP program to infiltrate the battlestars and vipers. He also devised a way to detect human appearing Cylons and was instrumental in finding a Cylon spy on my ship. Would I want him by my side in a firefight? No. Would I want him backing me up with his intel? ...." He trails off, looking disturbed. His quiet speaks more than anything.  
  
"I'm concerned about his mental health. I want to do a re-evaluation and I may want a specialist from the Lenna Dell to talk with him. But that's enough about business. Would you mind if I ask you a question?" He waves his hand in a go ahead gesture, although I get the impression the Dr. Baltar topic is not done, but rather filed away for future reference.  
  
"Well, I've been wondering, how is it that you always manage to show up when I'm making coffee?" There, it's on the table.  
  
He laughs and leans forward. "I don't know if I should be revealing all my secrets. Let's just say that sources have told me when you've just finished an overnighter, you usually start grinding beans at about 0600, if you're just starting a shift you usually start making coffee at about 0900. I make it my business to know what happens on my ship, and someone who has Picon Mountain Blue and grinds their beans themselves is information worth knowing." He leans back a satisfied smile on his face.  
  
I am shocked at the completeness of his intel. The man must have spies everywhere. He laughs as I remain speechless. Which earns us a few more glances from the other diners. I finally give up and smile. I look over his tray and find he has finished everything. He gives me a questioning look. To my everlasting shame I yawn. He laughs and says, "It seems someone still needs some sleep."  
  
We pick up our trays and walk to the door of the mess. I see that Dr. Baltar is gone. I silently say, tomorrow Baltar, you and I are having a little conversation, even if I have to bring a straight jacket. The corridors of Galactica are quiet and all too soon I find myself outside a familiar door. "It's been a pleasure, Commander."  
  
"For me as well. I never knew following a doctor's orders would be something I wouldn't mind. Perhaps we can do this again"  
  
"If our schedules mesh, I would enjoy dinning with you anytime. Remember, you still need to take some down time and exercise, but I'll take what I can get. Good night, Commander."  
  
"Good night, Doctor."  
  
As I enter my compartment I turn and watch him walking away. The word that comes to mind is complex.  
  
The next day I am in my office. It's 0900 and my hands are itching to start grinding the coffee beans. I refuse to do so. Yes, I am being perverse but I just want to see if I can break the habit. There's a knock outside my office and I look up, surprised to see Dr. Baltar.  
  
"Uh, Doctor, I just wanted to stop by. I was looking over my, ahh, appointments and realized that I, ahh, missed our meeting. I am sorry but I was involved in some very, umm, delicate research and lost track of time." He stammers through this while continuing to stand at my door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and occasionally running his hand through his long hair.  
  
"I understand completely, Dr. Baltar. You more than anyone have a lot to do. Why don't you come in and sit down? I have some free time now. This shouldn't take long," I answer in a soothing voice.  
  
He hesitates then stammers "I, .. I was thinking about some time next week. I really am busy. I have some, ahh, experiments that cannot wait."  
  
"Look, doctor, this really shouldn't take long. I just want to go over some things."  
  
He wanders into my office and begins to look around, almost as if he expects someone else to be there, someone other than me. He sits in a chair and gives me a gracious smile while saying, "Please call me Gaius. What is it you wish to know?"  
  
I have been in practice long enough to know that whatever is going on with Dr. Baltar is more serious than I originally thought. "I want you to know that I'm doing follow-up on all Galactica personal in high stress positions. We've all been through a lot over these last few months and I'm just making sure everyone is doing ok." He nods as I continue. "There were some slight lab abnormalities I just want to follow up on, Gaius, nothing to worry about, but I just want to recheck a few things."  
  
The change in him is quick and so subtle that if I was not watching him I might have missed it. There's a slight turn of his head, then a small tip back, almost as if someone else has entered our conversation and is now running their fingers through his hair. He jerks a shoulder and shifts in his seat. I can almost "see" someone placing a hand on his shoulder and then sitting in his lap. His eyes dart to his "companion" and then settle back on me. "I feel fine, Doctor. While I do understand the responsibility placed on me, this is not the first time, and I dare say it won't be the last." That might have worked if this statement had not been followed by a sharp glance to his "companion" and then a slight jerk of his head. Am I in caffeine withdrawal or did someone just blow in his ear?  
  
"Look, Gaius, let me be blunt. There has been some concern over your current behavior, and..."  
  
"My behavior?" he interrupts then goes on. "To what behavior are your referring?"  
  
Damn, psych was never my strong suit. Well, here goes. "Gaius, there have been some reports of you talking to yourself. I know the stress you're under. Lords, most people would have been living here in the Life Station long ago. We're all over-stressed. I just want to make sure nothing serious is going on. Please understand, I have to ask- Are you hearing voices?"  
  
The soft "No" is more a movement of his lips than any sound. He clears his throat and states, "Doctor, I have never heard voices. This is ridiculous. Who, who is saying this? I daresay it's someone jealous of my accomplishments or my current position." He gives a sudden slight head jerk and I think I make out, "... no proof."  
  
I decide to retreat a bit. "I have to admit these reports are vague and I believe they will amount to nothing. However, in my capacity as CMO on Galactica I would be remiss if I didn't at least address these concerns. I hope you can understand the difficult position I'm in." Lords I hope he buys that bunch of felgercarb.  
  
There is another slight jerk of his head, a dart of his eyes and I think a whispered, "... never go that far," and Dr. Gaius Baltar suddenly gives me the full wattage smile complete with overwhelming charm saying, "Forgive me, Doctor, I understand your position completely. I didn't mean to be difficult. I assure you I haven't been hearing voices, and while I have had some problems sleeping, there is nothing out of the ordinary." Which makes me wonder what Dr. Baltar thinks is ordinary.  
  
I play along. "Thank you, Gaius, I knew you would understand. All I am asking for is to repeat some blood work and a brain scan." I hurry on before he interrupts, "Just to be on the safe side. You know, some hard data to back up that everything is OK. Both you and I know that a brain scan can still miss several things but most lay people think it's a gold standard." Please Lords, let him buy this crap. I promise never to miss Mother Elosha's services again.  
  
The gracious man is back in place as he says, "Of course, Doctor. Whatever you say." He is still smiling but I get an impression that there is another conversation going on, and that a decision has been made. A decision that I cannot hear; and if I did, probably wouldn't like. He gives a quick almost imperceptible jerk of his head in a "no" gesture.  
  
I rise from my chair and walk into the Life Station. For once there is no one around. I suddenly remember that Cassie is off today, and the other techs are doing inventory. My colleague Dr. Sands is over on the Lenna Dell. I realize that I am alone in the Life Center with a man I believe is schizophrenic at best and who-knows-what at worst. This is not good. I find myself wishing a certain coffee-scrounging Commander would walk through the doors. I never have been lucky. I only hope my gross stupidity will not result in my death and that I can stall Dr. Baltar until others show up.  
  
I lead Baltar over to a bed and ask him to role up his sleeve so I can draw some blood. The fact that he still has those head jerks and seems occasionally to be looking at another person is unnerving. I move to gather the supplies needed to draw blood and suddenly hear a sound and movement behind me. As I turn, I see Baltar about to hit me with a medical scanner! It's wand shaped and not especially large but it is metal and weights about 3 pounds. I think I put up an arm to try and block it. My last impressions are of overwhelming pain in my head and right arm, the sensation of breaking bones, and then oblivion.  
  
**************************************************************  
  
My first impression is sound. The sounds of the Life Station are all around me. Well I am a doctor and this is my domain. The next impression is pain, pain blunted by medication. Through the haze it seems to localize in my right arm and my head. For a minute I panic and send a prayer to the Lords of Kobol: please let my hands be ok. I'm a surgeon. My hands are my life, if they're gone I can only be a shadow of what I was. I want to ask questions and begin to pull at the restraints. I slowly become aware of voices. Voices talking to me.  
  
"Dr. Salik, you're ok. You're in the Life Station. Everything is all right. You are on a respirator. You have a severe concussion and a broken arm. Please relax and let the respirator do the breathing for you."  
  
"She's starting to fight it."  
  
"Cassie, give her another bolus of fentanyl."  
  
"Why is it doctors make the worst patients?"  
  
I note a discomfort in my throat, and a feeling that someone else is in charge of my breathing. I want to fight it, and ask about my hands, but the team has me well medicated. Thank the Lords they're using the good stuff. I drift off to sleep.  
  
I swim up through a fog. I am aware of the usual Life Station sounds and smells. I have a mask over my face, and the pain in my head is gone. I open my eyes and look at my right arm and hand. A light splint covers my forearm. From the itching sensation I feel, a bone knitter has been used recently. My hand, to my relief, looks ok and I can move all my fingers. From a distance I hear, "She's awake."  
  
I now see Cassie and Dr. Mark Sands come into view. "Welcome back to the land of the living," says a smiling Cassie.  
  
Mark chimes in, "Welcome back, Kylen. You had us worried for a while. Now quit slacking and get better."  
  
I try a few times to speak but my voice is soft and scratchy. I clear my throat and try again. "What happened?"  
  
I may still be under some sedation, but even I can see the significant glances between Mark and Cassie. I repeat, "What happened? The last thing I remember is ...." My voice drifts off as suddenly I am not entirely sure of what I last remember. "...is talking to Dr. Baltar in my office. Then it's all a blank."  
  
A familiar voice picks up where I left off and Commander Adama comes to my bedside. "You were attacked by Dr. Baltar. We're not sure of all the details, but he was trying to dispose of a rather heavy container of hazardous waste. Some Galactica personnel offered to help but then noticed what looked to be blood on the lid and wanted a look inside. Dr Baltar refused, and then got violent when the crewmen insisted. Security had to arrest him. He is currently in the brig. He alternates between screaming it's not his fault and that Cylon spies have planted a device in his brain, and carrying on a conversation with someone he refers to as 6. From what I understand, there are more than a few people on the Lenna Dell that want a look at Dr. Baltar."  
  
"What was in the bin?" I ask.  
  
He gives me a significant look. "You. Now get some sleep and we can talk later about your tendency to schedule appointments with mentally unstable people when no one is around."  
  
I feel a slight sting in my arm where the IV is and then the pull of sedation. As I drift off to sleep, I realize I am going to have to find out the times of Mother Elosha's services.  
  
End. 


	3. Recovery, Rehab & Capt Adama

For someone who never wrote fanfiction, this is scary. This started as a character piece but seems to be taking on a life of it's own. Is this what happens to all fanfiction? The Battlestar Galactica gang belongs to Glen Larson and Ron Moore. In an attempt to curb my kleptomania I have not "borrowed" anything. Excluding the Lenna Dell who Crys created and I took home in a bag.  
  
Standard of Care by Lt Kathy "Doc"  
  
Chapter 3: Recovery, Rehab and Capt Adama  
  
It's been over a week since Dr. Baltar and his "invisible" accomplice attacked me. I am lying in bed in a small private room off the main Life Station. Not because I am a VIP, but because I am driving my staff crazy. My arm is healed but weak and I know I'm going to need rehab. I still get severe headaches and dizzy spells. Thank the Lords the vomiting has stopped. It seems not only did the good Dr. Baltar give me a concussion, but he also managed a hairline fracture to my skull. Even worse, I have been forbidden coffee. My staff has already caught me once trying to make a break for my office and the coffee beans. I am in a bad mood.  
  
There is a knock on my door and in walks Commander Adama with a book under his arm. "I hear the Life Station personnel successfully thwarted an escape attempt today."  
  
"I was just trying to test my legs, sir." To my horror I find myself continuing on into a full whine, "My arm is still weak, I have no coordination, and I still get headaches and dizzy spells, so no reading or needlepoint. What's worse is no coffee!"  
  
"Hmm, I think I may have a solution." He pulls over a chair and sits, putting on his reading glasses before opening the book he brought. "I know this isn't a romance novel, but I thought you said you also like murder / mysteries. How about I read to you? Before you ask I had my eyes checked yesterday and already have new lenses."  
  
I am initially shocked, but recover my bad mood. "Surely the Commander has better things to do than read stories to the CMO." Yeeks, why am I being such a bitch?  
  
He tilts his head down a bit and I get the full power "Command Stare" from over his glasses.  
  
"Sorry, sir," I meekly reply to the unspoken reprimand.  
  
"I seem to remember a certain CMO ordering me to take some time for myself, exercise, and read a good book. Sound at all familiar? I'm just following doctor's orders. Now just settle back and let me read. That IS an order."  
  
What can I say to that? I sigh and settle back waiting for him to begin. I can think of worse things than lying in bed listening to Commander Adama read. His voice is the stuff of my dreams, and no, I'm not telling ANYONE the ratings. He has spies everywhere. I find myself relaxing while listening to his low gravelly voice filling the room.  
  
******************************************  
  
A few weeks later I am back in my office on "light duty". I look at my right arm. It has taken me a few weeks to regain the strength and dexterity I had. I no longer have dizzy spells although I still have occasional headaches. If I ever get near Baltar again...  
  
Dr. Baltar. Dear Dr. Baltar is definitely off the deep end. From conferences with colleagues on the Lenna Dell I know that brain scans have shown a small abnormality in the cerebral cortex. Through special image manipulation it's considered to be not naturally occurring and probably synthetic. The abnormality is too deep to remove surgically with any degree of safety. My esteemed colleagues consider 100 % chance of brain damage and 60% chance of death too risky. Damn! I mean, poor Dr. Baltar, stuck with that thing in his head. At least we have determined there are no signals radiating from it.  
  
So Dr. Baltar stays in his nice padded room, taking some pretty pink pills, and talking with his little invisible friend. Until the day he dies.  
  
I drop that thought and find myself smiling as I think about my last few weeks of rehab. The Commander decided to supervise my rehabilitation personally. He "told" me it was a great way to ensure he was getting the exercise I had prescribed him, and at the same time to rehab my arm. Devious bastard. That must be a requirement for battlestar commanders.  
  
I usually exercise using the treadmill we have in the Life Station and do some work with free weights. Those weight machines in the gym have always looked a bit too complex for me. He convinces me to try them. He tells me they will be less stressful on my arm according to what my therapist has told him. The first time I tried to work the arm machine the Commander ended up on the floor. No, not because I hit him, but because he was laughing so hard he lost his balance and fell over. He won't be laughing at his next physical. I have been doing some supply inventory and know where all the big needles are. For that matter maybe I can find one of the smaller gowns for him to wear, a really small gown. After all, a girl needs something to look forward to.  
  
*****************************************  
  
I am finally returned to full duty status. Praise the Lords and pass the coffee. My office is clean and my desk is spotless. My needlepoint work of the Galactica hangs on the wall. I even have coffee in my favorite mug. The mug that says: Life's a Bitch and now I am one Deal with It.  
  
There is a knock at my door and I look up. I am surprised to see Capt. Lee Adama. He passed his physical months ago. I believe he was the only one my staff did not have to hunt down. He actually showed up early. I had made a note of that aberrant behavior in his chart. His reasons for visiting now are a mystery.  
  
"Sorry Doctor, can I come in? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."  
  
"Please Capt. Adama come in. What can I do for you?" As he enters he closes the door behind him and takes a seat. Now I am even more curious as to his motives. He seems unsure as to how to proceed now that he's here. The silence stretches, the longer it goes on the more uncomfortable he looks.  
  
He is wearing his day uniform. Everything is neat and in place. He could be a poster boy for Colonial Fleet recruitment. As I look upon him, I am again struck by the lack of physical resemblance to his father. Beyond their similar height, I see little of the Commander in his features, his hair is lighter, and more a dark blonde, and his eyes are an intense blue. However, his overall attitude and mannerisms are like looking at an earlier, less seasoned version of his father. I wonder if father and son even realize how alike they are?  
  
I originally kept a close eye on Capt. Adama. All his medical records were on the Solaria, so I had to build a file from scratch. It is a combination of general fleet records, detailed history taking and yes, gossip. I knew he had only been promoted to captain about six months before the Cylon attacks. Then at Ragnar, he was made senior pilot and CAG. That is a lot of upward movement with little time for adjustment to the added stress and responsibilities, especially on a ship he was not originally assigned to, and didn't know the pilots or deck crews.  
  
There were rumors about a serious split between father and son. If I recall correctly, it had something to do with the loss of Zac Adama in a tragic viper training accident. From my covert observations, that tension is no longer there. While father and son still seem to be cautious around each other, there is also genuine affection.  
  
To his credit, Capt. Lee Adama has done well, shouldering his responsibilities and growing into the CAG position.  
  
My sources, (yes, I have spies of my own, but I am small potatoes compared to the network Commander Adama has) seem to think there may be something going on between Capt. Adama and a certain Lt. Thrace. I have watched them together several times and they seem close. While I have never seen them engaging in inappropriate behavior or public displays of affection, you never know. Capt. Adama is an especially private man. How do I know that you ask? Try getting a medical history from him. I've seen Tauran bi- valves with looser "lips".  
  
I do know that since Capt. Adama took over as CAG, I have seen a lot less of Lt. Thrace and her "sparring partners" here in the Life Station. I also hear her name has been taken off that special cell they use to keep for her in the brig. Maybe she's spending her time elsewhere with a new "sparring partner"? She could certainly do worse. In my strictly professional opinion, Capt Lee Adama is a very nice package. I know. I was the one who did his yearly physical exam. If I did not have high ethical and moral standards I could be rich selling the video. He may be handsome, but he still doesn't have his father's voice.  
  
His sigh startles me out of my musings.  
  
"Look, I know this isn't any of my business but I feel I have to ask anyway. Just what is going on between you and my father?" he continues on, "Both of you have been seen dinning together and exercising in the gym on several occasions over the last several weeks. The crew is beginning to talk."  
  
I never saw that coming.  
  
Before I can even begin to formulate a reply a loud overhead voice informs the Life Station of incoming trauma. Cassie opens the door and enters my office. "The freighter Gemini has had an engine malfunction. There was an explosion and by early reports five people are injured, I don't know how severely. Emergency shuttles have been sent, and the medical crews on the Gemini are currently getting the injured out and transported here. Approximate arrival time is 20 minutes."  
  
I stand up saying, "Have Mark coordinate with the medical and transport teams. I'll be out in a few minutes. Notify Chief Tyrol that we'll be setting up a preliminary triage center in hangar bay 2." Cassie leaves and I turn to Capt Adama. "I don't have time for this now." I am already starting to unbutton my day uniform top so I can change into scrubs. He is still standing there waiting, for what I have no idea. "Capt Adama, I have a trauma to get ready for. We'll continue this later. You are dismissed." I don't think he expected that, I'm usually not one to stand on military ceremony. He pulls off a sharp salute and says, "Yes, sir." I return it and he leaves, closing the door behind him.  
  
How the hell am I going to deal with this? I sigh. One disaster at a time, Kylen, one disaster at a time.  
  
For overall top-of-the-line medical facilities the Lenna Dell is the place to go. Her doctors are first rate and they have the most state-of-the-art equipment in this fleet. However, there is only one place in the fleet where trauma patients are taken, and that's the Life Station here on Galactica. That's not just because we're the biggest ship. No, not even the Lenna Dell can come close to us in trauma services. To outsiders it looks like all hell breaking loose, but to those of us who deal with trauma all the time, it's a dance. When all goes right, the impossible happens. When it goes wrong, lives are lost. I am proud to say that my team on the Galactica are the best "dancers" I have ever worked with, and that is saying a lot.  
  
As I enter the hangar bay to make sure the triage area is ready, I see Chief Tyrol and Capt. Adama in consultation. I walk over to the two men. I sigh as they both salute me. I have been saluted again. That's twice today. I salute back and ask, "Any problems with the incoming shuttles or the triage area Chief?"  
  
"No, sir. As you can see the hangar bay has been cleared. The triage area is over there"  
  
"The shuttles have landing clearance and viper escort," reports Capt. Adama.  
  
The first shuttle arrives and we all move into action. The next few hours become a blur.  
  
My last patient is on the table and the sounds of the OR are all around me, quiet voices reading off vitals, my colleague making adjustments to the anesthesia and techs handing me instruments. My fingers move in repetitative motions. It's not nerves. I'm tying off sutures.  
  
When I was in training there was an old codger of a surgeon who was forever going on about the "days of giants". A time when we didn't have laser sutures and you used needle and thread to sew up wounds. You also had to know how to tie knots. One day I came up to him after a case and asked what was so hard about tying knots. The next three weeks of my life were living hell as I learned one-handed, two-handed, and instrument ties. I had calluses on all my fingers. I still do. When I had completed my training, that old codger came up to me with a present. Inside the box were his instruments. I told him I couldn't take them but he replied "Look Dr Salik, I am an old man and don't have much time. You were the first in a long while who took the time and trouble to learn how to tie knots. I have no use for these but you may." I wonder if he had ESP.  
  
Our laser sutures are slowly losing power. Fuel is scarce in the fleet and the engines and life support get top priority. More and more I find we have to go back and use old technology.  
  
I hold out my hand "Cassie, please pass me the 3.0 silk with a curved needle."  
  
It's about 20 hours later. The patients are all alive, stable for now, and I leave them in the capable hands of Dr. Mark Sands. My body aches with fatigue and I need to sleep but my meeting with Lee Adama keeps running through my head. I find I have wandered onto the deserted hangar deck and pick a convenient corner to sit on the floor and rest a while.  
  
What is going on between the Commander and me? I wish to all the Lords of Kobol I knew. I enjoy his company and I think the feeling is mutual. Yes, we dine together when schedules permit, and, yes, we exercise together about 3 times a week (the only time I use those damn machines). But to date I have never called him by his first name. What is his first name even? I mean, I know it's William, but does he prefer Will, Bill, William, Billy, Willie? I shudder at those last two. Ok, no Willie, or Billy. I think I once heard he had a nickname as a viper pilot but for the life of me I can't remember what is it. For that matter, he usually refers to me as doctor. Does he even know my first name?  
  
I recall another statement Capt. Adama said during our short meeting. The whole crew is talking. Talking about the Commander. Talking about the Commander and me. Images pass before me. Glances the techs make when they see the Commander entering the Life Station, eyes quickly averting when the Commander and I are in the gym, the looks in the officers' mess, it's all adding up to a picture. A picture I have been too dense to really see. No, not dense, I knew what was going on, I just ignored it. Ignorance, thy name is Kylen. I try and wrap my mind around what the crew must see. They see the Commander and the CMO dating. The crew is probably speculating if the Commander and I are,... a list of about 50 words and phrases pop into my mind and they all mean the same thing, involved, with a capitol I.  
  
I am not going to lie to myself and say I'm not interested. I may not be a spring chicken, but I'm not dead yet. For his age Commander Adama is in good shape. I have dreams about his voice, and, yes, the body is there too. Lords, I have not even been in his quarters except for staff meetings. He certainly has never been in mine. This is all too confusing for my tired mind to deal with.  
  
I am about to get up when I'm aware of another person close by, watching me. I startle, my all too-recent experience with Dr. Baltar fresh in my mind  
  
"I'm sorry to startle you, Doctor," says Lee Adama as he comes toward me. Despite the fact I want to run for cover, I wave my hand and indicate a vacant space near me. I have never had good luck.  
  
Capt. Lee Adama sits beside me. He takes a deep breath as if getting ready for some great battle and begins speaking "I'm sorry about our earlier meeting. It was unfair to spring that on you, and I realize I am way out of line. You have every right to tell me to mind my own damn business," he continues on before I can even form a coherent thought. "It's just that I worry about the Commander, I mean my father. He's been alone for a long time. I'm not sure if you know this, but my parents divorced a few months after Zac's, I mean my brother's death."  
  
He is silent for a while. Obviously even the memory of that event is still a slow healing wound to Lee Adama. I wait for him to continue.  
  
There is anger in his voice as he speaks, and I get the impression this is something he needs to say, "After it happened, I didn't speak to my father for two years, because I blamed him for Zac's death. Looking back, I added tylium to an already intense situation. My parents were struggling to deal with Zac's death, and I was not talking to anyone aside from accusing my father of killing Zac."  
  
I sigh, but he continues on, "Sometimes I wonder how much of a part I had in their divorce. Lately, things are better between us. I worry about him. We both tend to keep our thoughts and feelings to ourselves. I have noticed ever since he began spending time with you he laughs more, and seems more relaxed. He takes time out for himself. He wasn't doing that before. I just don't want to see him hurt. I hope you understand."  
  
We are both silent, then I speak, "Look, Lee, I wish I could tell you what's going on between your father and I. I'm not entirely sure myself. I know, .. well at least I think we enjoy being together as friends, beyond that I have no clue. Once I, or we, figure it out, you will be the first to know. The last thing I want to do is hurt your father. I respect him far too much, and ....."  
  
Damn, I wish I knew. Lee all of a sudden grins and says, "You don't need to continue, Doctor. I think I get the message." He stands up and holds out his hand. I'm not really sure, but I get the impression that more than a hand is being offered here. I take it and he pulls me to my feet saying, "Get some sleep, Doctor, you will feel better in the morning."  
  
"Doctoring the doctor. I don't recall any mention of medical training on your files, Capt. Adama."  
  
He starts laughing and I think I hear a muttered, "I sure hope my father knows what he's getting into."  
  
"What did you say, Capt.?"  
  
"Nothing, sir"  
  
We walk out of the hangar bay and reach the main corridors of the Galactica. As we part to go our separate ways, I see a figure standing in the corridor heading to the pilots' area. She is not tall, but there's nothing fragile about her, unless you count those huge eyes trained on Capt. Adama. I was not born yesterday, however much I wish I had been. I turn to Capt. Adama and say, "Goodnight, Lee. May the Lords keep you safe."  
  
For the first time I can think of, I see surprise in his blue eyes. He glances down the corridor to the pilots' area, and smiles when he sees that figure. Then he gazes at something behind me but quickly looks down into my eyes. An almost smile crosses his face and he replies, "Same to you, Doctor, same to you."  
  
I watch as he walks toward the person waiting for him then I turn in the direction of the medical staff quarters. I look up to see a familiar figure standing down the corridor. He is looking at me with warm brown eyes, and I can almost hear that low gravelly voice. When I finally reach him, his gaze is intense.  
  
"Anything you want to discuss, Doctor?"  
  
"Not right now. How about you walk a tired old gal back to her quarters?"  
  
"I don't know about old and tired, but it would be an honor to escort you to your quarters."  
  
As we walk I have a grin across my face. The one thought that keeps running through my tired brain is, "Kylen, you are one lucky girl."  
  
Too bad no one has started a lottery aboard the Colonial fleet. I would buy a ticket.  
  
End. 


	4. Critical Condition & Chief Tyrol

Special thanks to Lona who beta read this for me and let me borrow the picture. Also thanks to Crys for the Lenna Dell, and to tarlon and others who made the boxing idea real. As always BSG belong not to me. I still think this is PG. Please read at your own risk.  
  
Chapter 4: Critical Condition and Chief Tyrol  
  
The patient on the table is in critical condition and failing fast. Mark, Cassie and I are at the bedside. So far every intervention we have tried has only made things worse, not better. It does not look good. Ahh, yes, it's one of those days in the Life Station.  
  
"What about another liter of saline?"  
  
"We tried that. No response. If anything I think it made matters worse."  
  
"An exploratory?"  
  
"Hmm, that's a good idea. Cassie, please bring me the trauma tray."  
  
"Umm, Doctor, remember the results the last time you tried that in this kind of situation?"  
  
"Damn, Cassie, you're right. I know! Get me the defibrillator."  
  
"Doctor, I really think that using the defibrillator now would be asking for trouble. How about an outside consultant?"  
  
"A consult? Do you know someone on the Lenna Dell that has expertise with this problem? I'll make the call. Better yet I'll call CIC. I'm sure the Commander could pull some strings and get us a shuttle over to the Dell now. Get a com over here stat."  
  
My long-suffering tech sighs and states, "I was speaking of someone in engineering. You know, like Chief Tyrol?"  
  
We all look at my personal coffee grinder that lies on the table before us. It went on the fritz this morning. There are no replacements. If I can't get it fixed, my life is over. I may have to resort to drinking what little instant coffee is left. This is a disaster of unmitigated proportions.  
  
"That's a great idea, Cassie. I wonder if the Chief is on shift now. I'll just take my machine down to the hangar bay. I believe that's where he usually is. If the man can fix vipers then he has to be able to fix a coffee bean grinder."  
  
I pick up my machine and head out of the Life Station; my destination is the hangar bay. The corridors are somewhat crowded but I make good time. I enter the bay and make my way down the stairs, all the time scanning for the Chief. Hmm, the man is nowhere in sight. The hangar bay is alive with activity as the crew work on the remaining vipers and raptors. I snag a passing deck person. I believe her name is Callie. She is probably one of the few people I can look directly in the eye without tilting my head.  
  
"Callie, have you seen Chief Tyrol? I have a problem that requires his urgent attention."  
  
A look passes over Callie's face and then is gone. I have the feeling something is going on. Callie looks at what I am carrying and then says, "The Chief is not around now. How about letting me take a look at what you have and see if I can help, sir?"  
  
We walk over to a table and put my coffee grinder on it. Callie looks it over then asks, "What is it?" That does nothing to help my confidence in her.  
  
"A coffee grinder," I reply. I go over my coffee grinder's recent medical history. "It was working fine until yesterday. I noted a slight variation in the pitch of the motor but it still worked ok. I really didn't think anything was wrong until today after I put in the beans and turned it on. There was a high pitched whine and then it stopped working." I am about to continue when I notice the Chief exiting from a supply room. He looks around then leaves. Callie waves him over to us. If I didn't happen to be glancing over in that direction, I would have missed a certain raptor pilot, Lt. Valerii, I believe, exiting from that same room a few minutes later.  
  
I glance at the Chief as he is examining my coffee grinder. His face is slightly flushed, and there is a certain air about him. I catch another quick glance at Valerii as she exits the bay. I put two and two together. My musings are interrupted when the Chief asks me a question.  
  
"Why is it all wet and sticky inside, Doctor?"  
  
"We used some saline to flush it out, I thought that maybe the grounds were clogging the mechanism." The Chief stares at me with horror in his eyes, and I decide not to tell him about the defibrillator. He looks it over and pronounces judgment. "Doctor, I can fix it, but you'll have to leave it here for a few days." What am I going to do? I remember there is an old mortar and pestle in a back cabinet. If repairs take too long, I may break down and see how well that would work.  
  
Now what to do about the Chief and Lt. Valerii?  
  
*********************************************************  
  
It's later in the day and I am in one of Galactica's gyms. I am, believe it or not, using a punching bag. Now you may ask why would a doctor, a surgeon, want to do something like this? The blame falls on a certain devious, coffee-scrounging, Commander. The man is a menace.  
  
We still dine together and work out at least three times a week. No, I have still not dealt with the topic of US.  
  
It was about two weeks ago over dinner that he suggested I might want to include some boxing in my exercise program. At my look of astonishment he explained, "I'm not talking about sparring but rather using the weight bag, and maybe some shadow boxing."  
  
He's trying to look innocent but I can see wheels turning in his head. He may have the "Command Stare" but I am not without my own arsenal and give him the "Medical Stare of Disbelief". He still gives me innocent brown eyes. Damn, I can't break him. They must make battlestar commanders go through some kind of desensitization program. I fall back on logic and reason.  
  
"Commander, what would be the benefits? I'm not really into contact sports. What possible added benefit does boxing have over what I do now?"  
  
The change that comes over the Commander is amazing. He leans forward in his chair and begins talking. I sit there, completely in awe, only hearing about one third of what he's saying, as he becomes more animated and proceeds to give me a 20-minute dissertation about the benefits of boxing.  
  
"...a great cardiovascular workout,..."  
  
".. boxing develops hand-eye coordination..."  
  
".. boxing is an excellent outlet for stress..."  
  
"..it's also aerobic exercise."  
  
I want to stand up shouting, "So say we all," but hold back. In the face of such overwhelming enthusiasm, how can a girl say no? By the way, I looked in the Commander's file, turns out he was Captain of the Academy boxing team. There is mention of a division title. Devious bastard.  
  
So here I am alone in a gym with large red boxing gloves on my hands and hitting this bag. I have two motives for being here. First, I want to put in some extra time so that the evil menace to fleet society, the Commander, will quit laughing at me when we box. The second is more in the line of professional obligation.  
  
A large man enters the room. He has brown hair and eyes. There's a certain aura of intensity that is always around Chief Tyrol. He is a man that throws himself 110% into anything he does. I have seen him inspire an entire hangar crew to heroic extremes under dire circumstances. I also locked him in my office until he had gotten the Col. Tigh issue under control. For a while after the fleet jumped away from Ragnar I was concerned that the good Colonel would meet his end in a dark, burned-out corner of the forward flight pod.  
  
The chief is in standard Galactica gym clothes and carries a pair of red boxing gloves. He is very surprised to see me.  
  
"Uh, sir, what are you doing in the enlisted crew's gym?" asks Chief Tryol.  
  
"This is the enlisted crews' gym? I just started coming here because it's close to the Life Station. You're the first person I have ever seen here." I too can be devious when it suits my purpose. "Is it ok if I stay, Chief? I don't want, to make you feel uncomfortable. Oh, and drop the sir. If you want, you can call me Kylen, or doctor."  
  
The Chief is a good man. He is intensely loyal to the Commander. As a matter of fact, I first met him when he approached me to see if I could help in obtaining the Commander's original viper. The Chief wanted to have his crew restore it and have it fly in the decommissioning ceremony. I had made calls to some friends at Picon Fleet and there you go. One rusted out Viper stowed away on a Colonial Fleet supply ship and then onto the Galactica.  
  
I watch as he comes to a decision. He walks over to the bag I am using. He is assessing my technique with a critical eye. I continue to swing at the bag. At least he's not laughing.  
  
"I didn't know you boxed, Doctor."  
  
"I just picked it up about two weeks ago. The Commander thought it would add something to my usual routine."  
  
I personally think the good Commander did it just so he could get some chuckles watching me try. My guy has an odd sense of humor. Where the hell did that come from? I shake my head and proceed with my plan.  
  
"Do you box, Chief?" I already know the answer. I have fairly decent intel.  
  
"Yes, sir. I was on the boxing squad in training and then at my last post before transferring to the Galactica we had an intramural boxing club. You need to put more of your shoulder into it, Doctor."  
  
I adjust my swing and decide to try something. "You know, the Commander also loves to box. He was Captain of the Academy boxing team. Maybe you two should get together and go a few rounds."  
  
The Chief is astonished. "I can't believe you just said that Doctor."  
  
"What's so hard to believe? The fact that I would suggest that two grown men go into a ring and attempt to beat each other silly knowing full well I will have to patch them up when it's all over? Or the part about an enlisted man engaging in a sport with a ranking officer?" I turn my eyes up to the Chief and give him my best "I know all" stare.  
  
I sense that the Chief has not picked up on my subtle hint regarding relationships between non-coms and commissioned offers. Oh well, subtly was never my strong suit. I decide to change tactics and be direct. Direct works very well for me.  
  
"Chief, what is going on between you and Lt. Valerii?  
  
"Nothing, sir."  
  
I sigh and say, "Chief, I wasn't born yesterday. I saw both of you exit that storage room today. To be honest, that's not the first time I have seen it, and if I have, then others have too."  
  
There is a moment of indecision, then the Chief states, "Sharon and I have been seeing each other."  
  
"I suspected as much."  
  
"Are you going to report us, sir?"  
  
"No. Our home worlds have been destroyed. Life is hard and is not going to get easier. Everyone needs a reason to keep them going, to get them out of bed in the morning." For a second my thoughts stray to a certain coffee- mooching, devious as hell, gravelly voiced commander, then I continue, "If what you and Sharon have makes you both happy, I say go for it. I would like to suggest that you try to be discrete and keep it off regular duty hours. However, you should be aware, if I noticed, most likely others have too. It's going to eventually have to be addressed."  
  
I make a mental note to somehow discuss the issue of "fraternization" between crew members with the Commander so I can ascertain his position.  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"What did I say about the sir thing? How did you and Sharon hook up anyway, if you don't mind my asking? You know there is a thing called doctor-patient privilege."  
  
"Sorry, Doctor, and, no, I don't mind." He starts putting on his boxing gloves and I go to hold the bag. There is an economy of movement to his swing that speaks of experience.  
  
His eyes are focused on his target as he beings to speak, "It started before the Cylon attacks. Sharon was a rook fresh from flight school. She was intense and nervous and wanted to know everything about raptors. The more seasoned pilots were on her case, just like they treat all the rookies. Sharon took the teasing to heart at first. I felt sorry for her and started spending time with her on the hangar deck going over raptor mechanics and stuff. She was easy to talk to. Before I knew it, the time I spent with Sharon became the high point of my day. One day we were both repairing a raptor and I needed to get a part from the supply room. Sharon came in to help and..."  
  
"I get the picture. Still, it must have been difficult. Having a relationship with a woman who is an officer. Especially given the Fleet regulations regarding fraternization. You were both taking a big chance."  
  
"We were both surprised that first time. Afterwards, we backed off for a while. You better believe we knew we were taking a chance. In a way it was good because about that time Sharon got paired with Helo, and he did a lot to ease her way in with the other pilots. We finally figured out we were both miserable apart. We talked it over for a long time, and eventually discretion became the word of the day. At least you don't have that problem with the Commander." He stops punching the bag with that last statement and looks me in the eye.  
  
I feel as if Chief Tryol had hit me with his boxing glove.  
  
I must have looked it. "Sorry if I overstepped the line Doctor."  
  
I sigh, "Chief, it's ok, and I don't see any lines on the floor. The Commander and I are just friends. We happen to share some interests, and enjoy spending time together."  
  
I have to admit Chief Tyrol has a great "Not Buying It" stare, but he's not getting any more information from me. I shrug my shoulders. Our impasse is broken by an overhead announcement: Dr. Salik to the Life Station, trauma category 1.  
  
I am already moving for the doors and removing my gloves. As I run to the Life Station I have a stray thought. I think I'm going to go ahead and tell the Commander that Chief Tyrol boxes too. It would be worth it to get him off my back, even if it does make more work for me.  
  
******************************************************  
  
The Life Station is dark. I stand there, looking over my domain. I am still wearing my scrubs, and they have blood on them, the blood of a man who never should have died. There is no one to blame, no finger to point, no missed diagnosis, no medical stone unturned. I have sent my team to their quarters. They all did an excellent job. I sigh and look at my hands. They are clean, but I still see blood on them. Most of my staff has never worked in a cutting-edge Fleet hospital. I have, and I know what we USED to be able to do. I know that at a different time, on another world, this patient would have survived, I could have saved him. When did I go from doctor to medical quack?  
  
We have lost so much, and I am so tired. Tired of making do with second, third or even fourth best. Tired of trying to ration antibiotics, anti- viral agents, vaccinations, pain medications, band-aids, and Lords know what else.  
  
Even as I was telling my team they all did an excellent job, a small voice in my head was saying liar. I am still hearing that voice, and now it's screaming. I seem unable to move. A random thought runs through my brain saying I will be sharing quarters with Dr. Baltar and his invisible friend if I can't snap out of this. I am too tired to care.  
  
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, "It seems all the work is done. How about I escort you back to your quarters?" I shake my head. I have nothing to say.  
  
"Walk with me."  
  
I feel a tug on my hand and find myself traversing the corridors of Galactica, being led by the Commander. The warmth of his hand is the only thing I feel. I am too numb to even try and figure out our destination.  
  
Some of the numbness subsides when I realize we are in his quarters. I have only been here for staff meetings and never alone with him. While he rummages through a locker and drawers, I stand looking at "The Destruction of Scopolios". The horror pictured there seems appropriate to my mood. He must have gone into his private bathroom, because the next sound I hear is the shower starting. He re-enters the main room and walks over to me. "Go take a hot shower. I got you a towel, and found some old sweats you can change into once you're done."  
  
I answer, my voice a monotone as I look down at my hands, "It doesn't matter, the blood is still here. It never washes out."  
  
He is standing close to me, and now I can feel the heat from his body. When he speaks, I hear concern, but there is no mistaking the tone of command in that low voice. It says do what I say, no questions. "Go, shower and change. Come out here and then we can talk. I shouldn't have to say this but..."  
  
"....it's an order. Yes, sir." I reply.  
  
If I was thinking clearly I would notice something I have never seen before: fear looking out from his brown eyes.  
  
The heat from the water breaks some of my numbness. My motions become more purposeful and less robotic as I stand under that fall of hot water. The ice that had surrounded me is gone and in its place is ......  
  
Kylen, what have you done? The first, last, and only time this happened was during my first year of training. To this day I still feel embarrassment at how I broke down then, and cried in the arms of my friend, another intern.  
  
The present rushes in with startling clarity. What does the Commander think? What should I do? Where should I go? I want to run and hide. I should be strong and show no weakness. A part of me is saying he is calling the Lenna Dell right now asking for an expert to come over. Another part is telling me to go out that door and talk to him.  
  
I turn off the water, dry off, and change into clothes that are way too big, but very warm and comfy. I take a quick look in the mirror and the term shell-shocked comes to mind. I open the door, and walk out into the main area.  
  
The lights are turned down but not totally off. He has unbuttoned his day uniform top, and I can see the regulation tee shirts and his dog tags underneath. He walks toward me holding a small glass with a brown liquid in it. He hands the glass to me saying, "Drink it all. No questions." The liquid sears my throat and I almost gag. I don't hear him move, but he's now beside me. I can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He takes the glass from me, sets it down, then moves in close and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. Lords that feels good.  
  
I am enveloped in the heat from his body. His strong arms hold me tight. He is something solid and real and alive. Finally I begin to cry. My arms move to wrap around him without conscious thought, and I hold on for dear life. We just stand there, our arms around each other while I make a mess of his uniform. I'm not sure how long I cry, but eventually I run out of tears. I feel drained and blank.  
  
He moves us over to his bed. He lets go and I start to feel cold again. He moves so that his back is up against the pillows propped on the wall and his legs are outstretched. He reaches for my hand and pulls me down against him, wrapping his arms around me.  
  
"I should ..."  
  
"Stay." "Sleep." He shifts position to pull up some blankets from the bottom of his berth. The cold begins to seep away. I close my eyes and fall into oblivion.  
  
****************************************************  
  
I am aware of being warm, and of being held. I'm in a bed, but it's not my own. The events of earlier come crashing into my mind. I am trying to figure out how to make a graceful exit and at the same time wondering where in the fleet I could hide. The arm holding me close squeezes me tighter for a second. "Go back to sleep."  
  
I sigh, and, of course disobey orders, "Sorry about before. I haven't done that in a very long time. You must think..."  
  
"I don't think anything. However, if you want to talk..?" he interrupts.  
  
"We lost a man today, a man who should have lived."  
  
"You did the best ...."  
  
I raise myself up to look directly into his eyes. "No! I did what I could with the equipment I had. That is nowhere near my best." There is anger and frustration in my voice. I want to continue, but using his rank while I am in his arms seems so odd and impersonal. Some of my anger drains, as I ask, "What should I call you? I mean.."  
  
"Bill," he says. There is a smile in his eyes.  
  
I sink back against him. "Bill," I get a warm tingly feeling saying his name. "My posting to the Galactica was temporary. My regular post was the Trauma and Critical Care division at Picon Fleet Hospital. Do you know what that means? We had all the cutting-edge equipment and medications, and it was all there and ready to use at a moment's notice. If I had the resources of Picon Fleet Hospital, that man would have lived. Lately, I feel like I'm playing doctor. I'm so frustrated over what we lost, and what we have to do to get by. It's not something I usually think about, but this case just seemed to shine a big glaring light on the differences between what we had and what we have." I sigh and settle in a little closer to him.  
  
I feel as if a little of the weight that has been hanging on me is gone. My spirits lift somewhat. I become aware of the steady beat of his heart and his slow respirations. He radiates heat better than any warmer we have in the Life Station. I can detect his scent all around me.  
  
"You going to be ok?" he asks. I can hear and feel the low rumble of his voice.  
  
"Yea, I think I'm going to be ok."  
  
"Good. I would hate to break in a new CMO. Besides who would be around to get on my case?"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"I wasn't planning on letting you leave." There is relief in his voice. "Now get some sleep, Kylen."  
  
Have I said how much I love his voice? My last thought as I drift off is that I love the sound of his voice when he says my name.  
  
End 


	5. The Topic of US

This has been the most difficult chapter to write, because I am not sure where I want the Commander and Kylen to go. I'm still not 100% happy with it. It is definitely different from my previous chapters. As I said before, this started as a look at the different BSG characters through the eyes of their ship's doctor. It seems to have gotten away from me into a Kylen & Commander thing, OK say romance, maybe. SOS, my characters have kidnapped my fan fiction. Does this happen to everyone? Lona has been a really big help. You guys have no idea what she sees. The BSG characters belong to Glen Larson and Ron Moore.  
  
Chapter 5: The Topic of US  
  
I am awake, in his sweats, lying on my stomach in a cocoon of blankets. My head rests on his pillow; my arms are crossed beneath it. I lie in his bed watching him work unobserved. I have no idea of the time. I did not wake when he left the bed and usually I am a very light sleeper. It comes with my job.  
  
The Commander (Bill?) is sitting at his desk, already in his duty uniform, reading glasses in place as he goes over reports. He wears the colonial uniform like he wears the mantle of command. They are both a part of him. His desk is cluttered; among the reports are stacks of books that range from military history, and combat strategy, to religion and fiction. His movements are precise, and there is an order to the way he works.  
  
Watching him work, I see a man alone. Yes, there's President Roslyn, but her power exists because he doesn't want it. After the jump from Ragnar, he could have declared martial law, sent her back to Colonial One, and told her to go fly a kite.  
  
I recall the Commanders and Admirals I've met in my tenure at Picon Fleet Hospital. There are less than a handful who would be able to take on a job description that includes: keeping a structured military system intact, managing protection to a civilian fleet filled with the survivors of humanity, and dealing with a fledgling civilian government. I think he does it better than anyone, and has never complained.  
  
Now, on top of all his other responsibilities, he has to deal with a CMO who... "Say it Kylen", I tell myself...a CMO who lost it. For a minute the frustration and anger from last night returns, however, lying here is his bed, and watching him work; I find that it is not as overwhelming as it was. When did he become such a big force in my life? I sigh.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" he asks as he turns to face me.  
  
Should I be brave or play it safe? I sigh again and take a chance, "You."  
  
For a second I think I see surprise cross his face, but it passes so quickly that I'm not sure if it was real or imagined. He smiles then removes his glasses and walks to the bed. I follow his movements with my eyes, too lazy to move. He sits on the side of his bunk near my shoulders. I feel him move some of the blankets and then he is massaging my shoulders. His hands are warm and firm. The strokes are sure.  
  
"Anything you want to discuss?"  
  
I'm wondering why he is focusing on my behavior from last night, and not on my response to his question. I chide myself, idiot! An impaired CMO is a significantly larger problem than some woman thinking about him. If I was being honest, I would acknowledge the sharp sliver of hurt that goes through me. I focus on his question, even though the feel of his hands on my body is distracting to say the least.  
  
"You have enough problems. You don't need mine added to yours. Last night I needed a friend to just be there. You were. Not many people would have been able to stay calm while their doctor makes a house call at the funny farm."  
  
His hands continue their massage. "Your problems are my problems, Kylen."  
  
I'm not sure what he means by that. Does he mean me in a personal sense, or is it more related to problems in my position as CMO? In the last few months, we have become closer; however, he's a very taciturn man and says little about what he is feeling, even to me. His voice gives nothing away. I would turn around to look at him but the massage is incredible. I have no clue how to answer that and so keep my response neutral.  
  
"You have enough on your plate. I shouldn't be adding to it."  
  
"I've seen it happen before to some of the strongest people I know. I was concerned about you for a while. You pulled yourself back. You just needed someone to be there. I'm honored to be of service."  
  
"I was concerned myself. You're being here made a difference. You're a good guy to have around when it all hits the afterburner. I owe you more than one for that. You're really something special. Thanks."  
  
I can't see him, but his hands stop their movement for a second and then resume. I wonder what he is thinking, and if I've managed to surprise him again.  
  
"Special enough for maybe an extra cup of that Mountain Blue?" Coffee- mooching, and devious, have I said that before?  
  
"Maybe even two."  
  
There is something all warm and fuzzy about lying in his bed while his strong hands massage my shoulders. Almost as if being here protects me from the big bad world. A stray thought enters my head and disrupts my musings. How long have I have been here in his quarters? It is said that the only thing faster than FTL is ship's gossip. There is no way that me being here will go unnoticed.  
  
But maybe this is not as bad as I think. "What time is it?"  
  
"1100." I groan as I realize it is as bad as I thought. His hands never cease their movement, but he asks me, "What's wrong?"  
  
"Bill, I'm not sure if you are aware, but the crew is talking. Talking about us, as in 'you and I in a relationship' us. Me being here overnight is not going to help."  
  
"No, I'm sure it won't. I think Lt Gaeta is probably going to get a nice pile of cubits."  
  
I am not connecting with any of this. "Cubits? What does Lt. Gaeta and cubits have to do with the crew's interest in us and me spending the night here?"  
  
I suddenly put two and two together. I groan and put my face further into the pillow, my cheeks flushing. "Don't tell me there were bets about when we would...." I cannot go on.  
  
I hear him chuckle, and I decide to face the music. As I sit up his hands fall away, and I turn to face him. I scoot back against the wall and pull my knees up to my chest still covered by blankets. We paint an odd picture. Me in his bed wearing his clothes, my short hair all which way from the shower then sleep, my eyes still probably puffy from crying last night, and he sitting on the side dressed in his colonial uniform, calm, cool and collected, the Commander. We are sometimes as different as night and day, other times it's like he's an extension of me. He has over the last few months become a part of my world. I wonder what part I am in his.  
  
He says, "I've been aware of the speculation. I think it is best not to acknowledge it. Going about denying everything is just going to make them think something is going on."  
  
I tell him, "Sometimes, something is going on." He is looking at me intently, waiting for me to explain that cryptic statement so I continue, "They see us eating, and exercising together, it only stands to reason they would speculate. Frak, I would speculate for a lot less. Bill, what are we actually? Are we an US, or are we ...a something else?"  
  
Good going, Kylen, is that vague enough? Is that even good syntax? I am really bad at relationship discussions. Someone should start a class on it. They would make millions on me alone.  
  
I plod onward probably digging my own grave, and thanking the Lords that Mark is ready to take over the Life Station when I am forced to relocate to the Lenna Dell. "Bill, I enjoy being with you. You challenge me, make me laugh, frustrate me to no end, and, .." I falter for a moment, unable to continue.  
  
He sits there looking at me intensely almost as it trying to see into my thoughts. Despite that intent look, his face gives nothing away as to what he is thinking. I know he can see that my face is flushed. I wish he would say something, anything.  
  
I sigh, and try again, "I'm not an easy person to get to know. I have a really bad track record with men. Somehow you got past all my walls, and defenses. I find myself going through the day thinking, I have to tell you this, or I have to ask your opinion about that. You're important to me in ways I'm only beginning to understand. I even make two cups of coffee each morning."  
  
I look away and put my head to my bent knees. I cannot seem to adequately express what I really want to say and my mind is starting to run in circles, trying to put into words what I am feeling.  
  
I look at him again, and end up just saying, "Have I ever told you how bad I am at discussing relationships?"  
  
He breaks eye contact for a second as he looks down, but other than that his face gives nothing away. He finally sighs and I get the feeling he's trying to make a decision. As his gaze returns to me, he leans forward and maneuvers me into his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.  
  
"Kylen," my name is a sigh as he speaks, "You are a rare and special person. Just right now I'm not sure if there is enough of me to go around. I.."  
  
He stops, and hugs me tighter.  
  
I never did know when to quit. I had to push the US issue, not great timing considering last night's events. While I was fairly certain that he was content with the "status quo", lately I had been nursing a small hope that maybe we could get closer. From his response I don't think he wants that. I feel the pain and disappointment as I watch my little dream die. The rational part of my mind can understand that given our current positions, more personal involvement may make a working relationship awkward. I also know that despite the fact that people are encouraged to have babies, we are still dealing with supply issues such as obtaining fuel, food and other basics for the survival of the fleet, again not really good timing to start anything.  
  
A little voice in my head pipes up, "Others are doing it." Others are not the Commander of the Galactica or the CMO.  
  
He continues to hold me tightly, as if he's afraid that I will get up and leave. Why is he still holding me? It's strange, his words say one thing, but his actions seem to say something else. I slide my arms around him.  
  
I take a minute to think about where I fit in his world. I am definitely a friend, companion, confidant, and sometimes a clown. While I am his subordinate, in the correct setting I can override even his orders. (He knows I would do it without hesitation.) I want to be something more. Maybe I'm asking for something he is not ready to give at this time.  
  
An irreverent thought skitters in my head. I have finally met someone even worse than me at discussing relationships. That has to be a sign. I come to a decision. For now I can be what he needs. I can be patient, and give him some time to see where he wants to take US. But, I won't wait forever.  
  
I hug him tight, and then pull back saying, "Bill, I'm sorry to have brought this up. Let's table this talk, just agree to be US, and see where it leads."  
  
For a second I think I see relief in his eyes as he replies, "I think I can do that, Kylen."  
  
For some reason, none of the usual discomfort (panic in my case) that goes with these talks is present. I still think there should be classes on how to handle these types of discussions.  
  
I would love to be able to stay here in his bed for a bit longer, but I have already spent the morning here, and I am sure my absence has not gone unnoticed. "I need to get to the Life Station. Damn, I will have to wear those scrubs to my quarters. Just frak'n great."  
  
There is a look of smug satisfaction on his face as he explains, "I called the Life Station at 0800. I gave the story that last night, once you sent everyone to quarters you showed up at my hatch, demanding entrance, and then went on a diatribe about shortages and the need to make health considerations a priority. I told them that by the time I was finished explaining fleet priorities and rationing, you were sound asleep on my couch, and I didn't want to wake you up. I had Cassie bring your uniform and things over."  
  
I look at him, amazed at how his mind works. Finally I say, "Nice, I doubt they'll fall for it, but as a cover story I give it a B+. Have I ever told you that you have a devious mind?"  
  
He starts to smile but still looks smug as he answers, "It comes with the job. I'm heading up to CIC. You can shower here in private. Take your time. Oh, how about we meet in the gym for some boxing before dinner?"  
  
"I would prefer to get my teeth pulled without local anesthesia by a quack that never washes his hands."  
  
He gives me another smile, leans forward plants a light kiss on my forehead and states, "Great, I'll see you in the gym at 1700."  
  
Since that conversation, we continue to dine and exercise together a few times a week. What is new is that now we spend time alone together. Usually it's his quarters because mine are much smaller. We aren't doing anything no matter what it looks like to the crew. He reads out loud while I am doing needlepoint (have to keep the fingers limber). When we are alone he is Bill and I am Kylen, in public it's Commander and Doctor. We are good friends and maybe something more.  
  
*****************************************  
  
It's been about 4 weeks since 'The Conversation'. There's been a small accident in CIC. A pipe broke and the resulting gas has affected the eyes of several specialists and the Commander. Mark, my colleague, has diagnosed the Commander, Bill, with severe eye irritation from exposure to the irritant gas. It's not serious, but it does require special eye drops, and wearing patches over his eyes for 24 hours to allow for healing. I concur with Mark's diagnosis and treatment plan. (Yes I was looking over Mark's shoulder.) I had already been to the Commander's quarters this morning to make sure he had some music to listen to, and bring him coffee and breakfast. I also promised to return after my shift in the Life Station to read to him later.  
  
Oh, and yes Chief Tyrol did manage to repair my coffee grinder, but that story will have to wait for another time.  
  
From various people who have spent time with him today, I know the Commander is in a bad mood. He is literally "blind" for 24 hours, the kiss of death to a man like him. I have devised a plan that hopefully will take his mind off his current problem.  
  
I knock on his hatch and enter. Back in the berth area the Commander is sitting up in bed, bandages cover his eyes and he is dressed in comfy old sweats. There is a stark contrast between the white bandages covering his eyes, and the salt & pepper color of his hair. Although he is listening to music by a famous Caprican singer, he radiates an aura of frustration and boredom.  
  
Before he can ask 'who's there?' I sing out in my sweetest voice, "Commander, it's me your Doctor. I've come to visit you."  
  
"You don't have to sound so damn happy about it."  
  
The patient is definitely in a bad mood. I hope he doesn't decide to court- martial me and make me walk the plank for what I have planned.  
  
I continue in the syrupy voice, "I've come to read to you."  
  
"How nice, you've come to read to the invalid." Definitely a bad mood.  
  
Little does he know tonight's selection will not be the autobiography of Galactica's first commanding officer that I know he's been reading, but a book by the Caprican authoress Desiree Duress entitled "The Scalding Winds of Unquenched Desire". Yes, you guessed it; the CMO is going to read the Commander a tawdry bodice-ripper romance.  
  
I walk over to his bunk, and give his legs a nudge. He obligingly shifts over a bit and I sit down on the edge of his bunk, facing him.  
  
In a more normal voice I ask, "How are you doing? Being out of commission can drive a person insane. I know from personal experience."  
  
There is frustration in his voice as he replies, "Colonel Tigh is handling the CIC, and everything is stable. They keep me apprised with verbal reports. I just feel..."  
  
"Well don't, and don't get use to slacking off. We need you. Is there anything I can get for you?"  
  
I watch as he tilts his head a bit. I can tell he is trying to figure something out. It doesn't surprise me when he starts talking, "I thought I detected the smell of coffee. Can I assume you brought a dying man some ambrosia?"  
  
I'm not totally heartless. Yes, I have broken down and disregarding my own coffee ration rules, made a cup of coffee for him. "You have an excellent sense of smell, Bill. One mug of Picon Mountain Blue coffee, take as directed, doctor's orders."  
  
I remove the lid and gingerly hand it to him, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped around the mug before I let go. His hands are like him, strong and capable. I repeat the "we are friends" mantra.  
  
He leans back against the propped up pillows, takes a sip of coffee, a slight smile crosses his face, and there is a lessening in the tension there and in his shoulders. I begin to read. I may not have his voice but I do ok. Every so often I look up to see if he is registering what I am reading to him. He sits there sipping his coffee and saying nothing, looking more relaxed than when I entered. I expected this. Battlestar commanders do not crack easily, and Commander William Adama is one cool costumer. I, however, am a Doctor on a mission, and continue to read.  
  
I am just getting to one of the steamier scenes (WOW! in the first chapter even), when he clears his throat and says, "Kylen, I don't seem to recall this passage in the Commander Drake biography that I was re-reading."  
  
"That's because I decided to choose a different selection for tonight, Bill."  
  
"I see, please continue."  
  
He is a tougher nut to crack than I first imagined. I continue to read. Hey, this is a pretty good book! I take a second to congratulate myself for packing it when I was transferred to Galactica. I should have read it sooner. I'm starting to really get into the plot (I use that term VERY loosely), when I'm interrupted.  
  
"Doctor?" Hmm, he's using my title instead of my name. He has definitely got something up his sleeve. I hope what is up his sleeve does not include a court martial and a permanent transfer to the Astral Queen.  
  
I respond in kind, "Yes, Commander?"  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you hold the military rank of commander?"  
  
"Yes, but I'm in the medical branch."  
  
"I see."  
  
I read on. I don't know where he going with that question, but even if I can't see his eyes, I know there is a motive behind it.  
  
Every tawdry romance reader knows the good authors put about one steamy scene per two chapters. You have to leave some room for (dare I say?) plot. WOW, Ms. Duress is really laying it on. The great romance writers manage to weave some plot into their steamy love scenes so they can go on for pages, chapters even. Ms. Duress is one of the best I've read. How did I miss her other books? I wonder if anyone in this rag tag fleet has any more of them?  
  
I'm really getting into the story when he speaks, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but I've been thinking..."  
  
"Thinking about what, Commander?"  
  
"The chain of command," he says. I have no clue where this is going, but it sounds serious and I put the book down. He even looks serious. I wonder what's on his mind.  
  
"Are you concerned that Colonel Tigh will be unable to assume responsibilities if you become permanently incapacitated? Or is it something else?"  
  
I know he trusts Col. Tigh in CIC when he's not there. However, sometimes things like this make a person come face to face with their mortality. Maybe he's concerned about what would happen if Tigh were really running the show. Maybe he is considering retirement. I mean he was ready to retire when the Cylons attacked.  
  
He answers, "I'm concerned that since the destruction of Picon Fleet and the twelve colonies, there is a serious lack of senior officers. While I respect the civilian commanders and their crews, I would only entrust the Galactica to a person with military training. In a worst case scenario, it's possible that all of CIC could be wiped out. If that occurred, then command should fall on the highest-ranking senior officer. Highest-ranking no matter WHAT the branch."  
  
A light dawns as I begin to get the drift of his thoughts. "Would that include the medical branch, Commander?"  
  
His face and voice are totally serious as he replies, "I think it would have to. Of course, there would have to be training simulations set up, classes, and periodic evaluations, especially for those military branches not usually in the normal chain of command."  
  
Check and mate. He is threatening to make me go through command training classes. I have to admire his mind. Devious bastard. He's not even cracking a grin. I wonder if he's is serious about this. This is far worse than a transfer to the Lenna Dell.  
  
"Can I assume the Commander is less than pleased with tonight's reading selection?"  
  
I am sure that if his eyes were not bandaged I would be on the receiving end of his patented "Command Stare". "That would be a fair statement."  
  
I break first. "Would you really do it? Make me take command classes? All for reading you some trashy romance novel?"  
  
The change in him is amazing to watch. He starts to smile, and then chuckle, as if he can't hold it back anymore, finally he succumbs, and laughs outright. It's a good sight to see. He needs to laugh more.  
  
Bill is still laughing when he replies, "No, I wouldn't do that. However, now that I think about it the idea does have some merit and deserves consideration."  
  
Relief washes over me. I should remind him exactly what he is proposing and say, "I really can't see myself in CIC ordering all those people around. I would probably end up having the Galactica shoot her own vipers out of the sky and her own landing pods off, not to mention destroying the civilian fleet."  
  
I sit there watching him think. There are times I can tell his every thought, but more often than not, I have no clue. He seems to have reached a decision. He shifts his body over a bit more on his bunk and then pats the space next to him. Well this is interesting. I move so we now sit in his bed side-by-side, one of his arms is around my shoulders, a heavy but comfortable weight as I lean against him. Our legs are stretched out on the bunk, and a half filled mug of lukewarm coffee in his other hand. All us true coffee addicts know even lukewarm coffee is better than no coffee. In my opinion it should be a capital offense to waste even a drop. My opinions are considered somewhat extreme. Have I said it feels good to sit close beside him?  
  
He gives me a slight squeeze while planting a soft kiss on my temple, then he says, "I wouldn't be too sure, I've seen how you run the Life Station. I think the Colonial Fleet missed a great line officer when you went into medicine."  
  
WOW! High praise from a man like him. "I'll go get the Drake biography."  
  
The arm around my shoulders keeps me in place. "How can you read those books, Kylen? There's no plot, the characters are cliché and, well take for example that last chapter. The one where they're on the beach, that's just physically impossible, not to mention extremely uncomfortable."  
  
I take a moment to ponder how he can say something like that with such authority. I decide I don't want to know, and reply, "It's not physically impossible if both partners are really limber, but with all that sand and little beach creatures around, it wouldn't be my first choice for a romantic liaison. It's called poetic license."  
  
We both laugh.  
  
I never do get the Drake bio. We end up spending the next few hours sitting side by side on his bed, me reading aloud my trashy romance, and him interrupting with comments every so often. The conversation swings from disbelief, to sarcasm, to commentary and to amusement as we argue and laugh over the various merits of certain scenes and plot devices. I am glad that at least for a few hours Commander William Adama is not shouldering his usual burdens. I am one fine doctor and a good friend, and definitely something a little more. Only time will tell what. For now I can be patient.  
  
I wonder if he will enjoy Sarah Swann's book "Sweltering Sagittarian Nights"?  
  
End 


	6. Starbuck & The Death of Coffee

Yet another chapter of BSG as seen through the eyes of their Chief Medical Officer. My characters have officially taken over this fan fiction and demand it be called a romance. How come none of you other writers warned me about this! BSG characters belong to Glen Larson and Ron Moore. The Lenna Dell was created by Crys and is now all mine! Special thanks to Lona who somehow manages to take my drivel and turn it into a story with her corrections and suggestions.  
  
Chapter 6: Starbuck & The Death of Coffee  
  
I am sitting in my office reading a request to appear before a colonial government committee in order to consider my nomination for Fleet Surgeon General. Our civilian government has decided that we need a selection of candidates for the job. I have no problem with that, but none of the excellent physicians on the Dell have been nominated and my name is only on the list because, rumor has it that the Commander "went to bat for his girlfriend" and insisted. How sweet. Forget the fact that if this was my office at Picon Fleet, the walls would be covered with my degrees, and that I have a long list of publications. Well they can kiss my coffee grinder.  
  
I spare a glance for my coffee grinder that sits forlornly on the shelf. Yes, the Dark Ages have arrived. Civilization, as we know it no longer exists. The color has been taken from my world. All my personal stash is gone, and there is no more instant. We Have No Coffee!  
  
I had searched for days; looking in all my usual places where I would hide a backup bag, frack even instant would have been welcomed. No luck. When I could no longer deny that horrible truth, I went into mourning, and locked my favorite coffee mug away, not to be used again until coffee is returned to me. I wanted to put up some black crepe around the Life Station; however, Cassie and Mark convinced me it would not be good for patient morale.  
  
I would love to say I stood my ground and did not give up my principles of drinking only the real thing, but I am a caffeine addict and I need my fix. It was my staff who eventually forced me to start drinking the synthetic protein coffee substitute. It seems that I was getting "intolerable", so they all sat me down and said either I get back on caffeine or they all walk out. I wonder if Bill had a hand in this ultimatum. I'm sure the synthetic protein coffee substitute is recycled dishwater with coloring added, and plan to get a sample and test it.  
  
I remember happier, simpler times, like the day Chief Tyrol returned my coffee grinder.  
  
Cassie and I were in my office going over inventory. She is tall, with long blonde hair and green eyes, and one of the best medical techs I have worked with. There was a commotion in the main Life Station Area. As we exited my office we saw several staff surrounding a very embarrassed Chief Tyrol. The staff was treating him like the next High Lord of Kobol. I opened my mouth to speak when I saw what he is held in his hands. My coffee grinder! I was about to run over to him when I caught movement from the corner of my eye.  
  
What happened next will forever be seared into my brain, as Cassie wrapped her arms around the Chief, dipped him back and proceeded to kiss him on the mouth for a good minute and a half. (Mark and I timed it.) WOW, who knew she was that strong? It would have been funny to watch his arms flail around if he had not been holding my coffee grinder in one of his hands.  
  
When she finally released him, the Chief was really red and backed away from Cassie like she had turned into a Cylon. He really started to look scared as I approached him and he was keeping an eye on the entrance. I was not sure if he was planning an escape or if he was hoping Lt. Valerii would come along and rescue him from this madhouse. Little did he know that I had been, "rather testy" while my grinder was out of commission, and my staff had taken the brunt of my frustration. Well, them and Bill, ahh, I mean the Commander.  
  
The last thing the Chief said before he almost ran from the Life Station was, "Doctor, I think you are an amazing physician. Permission to speak freely?"  
  
"Why thank you, Chief. Sure go ahead." I hardly gave him a glance as I gazed at my coffee grinder. I was so happy. I wanted to test the grinder right then and there!  
  
"You are a lousy mechanic, sir. Never touch the insides of that machine again. Any problems, you bring it straight to me. That is an order." You know the Chief has a pretty good "Command Stare", but he is still in the minor leagues compared to the real thing.  
  
Oh, I did try to discuss the Chief's fraternization issue with Bill, but he had already known about Chief Tyrol and Lt. Valerii. While he has made no formal statement, the general word is that relationships are ok as long as they do not interfere with performance and the individuals are not in positions to evaluate each other.  
  
After Chief Tyrol's repair job, my coffee grinder worked even better than before. Those were the good days. I probably should not admit this, but at night, I dream about coffee, fresh hot coffee, with cream, real cream.  
  
********************************************  
  
There is a commotion in the Life Station. I sigh and put down the government request. Anything has got to be better than this bureaucratic felgercarb, or my current coffee deprived thoughts.  
  
As I enter the main examination area I see the cause of the commotion. Lt. Kara Thrace, "Starbuck" is giving Mark a hard time. This should be interesting. I walk over to the exam table and put in my two cubits.  
  
"Is there something I can help with?"  
  
Mark and Starbuck are glaring at each other. I have to say the look Starbuck is giving my colleague would melt lesser men. However, Mark has worked with me too long and has unfortunately picked up several of my bad habits. He not only fails to spontaneously combust, he is staring her right back. You go boy!  
  
I get the details. It seems Lt. Thrace had to make emergency landing due to a problem that developed in her viper during patrol. That landing was "hard" and its fleet policy that any pilot who makes that kind of landing must be examined before returning to full flight status.  
  
Since there is nothing I can do about government politics or coffee, I am glad to be able to solve this little problem. I walk up to Starbuck, look her straight in the eyes and say two words, "Flight status." I return to my office and Starbuck graciously allows Mark to examine her.  
  
Perhaps I should explain the meaning behind those two words. When I first arrived on Galactica, Starbuck and I did not get off on the right foot. Even now our relationship, if you want to call it that, is considered one of grudging respect. I respect her flying abilities as the ACE pilot among the viper squadrons, and she grudgingly acknowledges my power to medically revoke her flight status. It is probably not the healthiest of relationships, but it has worked for us, so far.  
  
Our first meeting was the one that set the tone. It happened before the Cylon attack. She had managed to miss her yearly physical appointment for the tenth time. The original CMO had been somewhat lax in his crew physicals. I was having a bad day trying to catch up on all the work he left behind. I decided that enough was enough. Before I began my slow walk down to the pilots' rec room, I made sure to memorize Starbuck's face from the photo in her medical file. From the threshold I could see Starbuck at a table-playing Pyramid with her fellow pilots, and smoking a cigar.  
  
I walked into the room and cleared my throat, giving everyone my best "Medical Attending" stare. What do you know? Not only does it work on medical staff, but on pilots too. I filed that thought away. Everyone jumped to attention as someone stated, "Officer on deck." I had a stray thought cross my mind. How come no one jumps to attention when I enter the Life Station? Oh, well. I walked further into the room. Everyone, including Starbuck, stood at attention as I had not given the at-ease command. She was wearing her regulation fleet tee shirts, dog tags, and duty pants. I walked over to her and stood at her side. She was staring straight ahead.  
  
My voice was even and without a hint of emotion. "Lt. Thrace, is there any reason why you missed your appointment in the Life Station today?"  
  
"No, sir." She replied, still staring straight ahead.  
  
"I see, Lieutenant. Thank you for your time."  
  
I turned and left. It was not until the next day that the daggit do-do hit the fan. There was a not-unexpected commotion in the main Life Station Area. It was a rather furious Lt. Thrace accompanied by the now-dead former CAG, Capt. Jackson Spencer. His call sign, I believe, was Ripper. He was holding her back from hitting me.  
  
She was almost screaming. "You revoked my flight status?"  
  
She may have been furious, however, I did not back down. I have had to face things a lot scarier that Lt. Thrace in my life. I stared her down giving her my "cool brown eyes that say nothing", and reply in an even voice. "Yes, I have, Lieutenant."  
  
"But why? I'm in perfect health." She was looking more frustrated than angry now. Capt. Spencer must have realized the threat was past, because he let go of her, but stayed close by if his "help" should be required again. From the corner of my eye I caught the Commander coincidently wandering into the Life Station. The man must have spies everywhere.  
  
"I don't recall a medical degree in your file, Lt Thrace. I do see that you have managed to miss all your yearly physical appointments. Since I cannot be sure that you are in 100% good physical condition, I cannot in good conscience let you fly. For all I know, you could be pregnant." I watched her eyes widen and as look of shock came over her face with that statement. Before she could speak I continued, "My order will stand until such time as you have had a complete physical exam. Oh, and don't bother trying to go over my head to get reinstated until said exam is over. It won't work." I gave the CAG and the Commander significant eye contact with a look that dared them to try before I turned and reentered my office. Needless to say, I got my way.  
  
I shake myself back to the present. I am in somewhat of a quandary about Starbuck. I know Bill has a soft spot for her. He respects her as a pilot, and considers her part of his family. I only recently found out from Bill that she had been engaged to his youngest son, Zac Adama. I have a feeling the current impasse between myself and Starbuck cannot continue given the common man in our lives. Knowing Bill, I doubt he will let it continue for much longer before he intervenes. Lords help us.  
  
I again wonder if Starbuck and Lee are more than friends. As I have said before, they are close. Remember, Kylen, people in glass houses should not be throwing stones, and right now you are surrounded by windows on all four sides.  
  
*********************************************  
  
It is the evening and I am dining alone. I have already met with the government committee regarding my consideration for Fleet Surgeon General. I may be wrong, but I get the feeling they have someone else in mind for the job. I only hope he or she will put the medical welfare of the fleet first and not their political career. I sigh. It seems Bill is in a meeting with President Roslyn. Despite my best efforts, everything seems a little duller without him around. No coffee and now no Bill. Can it get any worse?  
  
A shadow falls across my table, and I look up to see Lt. Thrace. She is holding a tray.  
  
"Mind if I join you, Doctor?" Hmm, this IS a surprise. I am curious as to why she wants to sit with me.  
  
I decide to take her up on her peace offering. "Please do, Lt. Thrace, and call me Kylen off duty."  
  
Her eyes widen in surprise as she sits down, but then she continues, "Call me Kara or Starbuck."  
  
Ok, I can do that. "So Starbuck, what brings you over here? You usually sit with the other pilots or with Lee Adama. Is he busy?"  
  
She sighs, "Lee is tied up in the same meeting that the Commander is in. I would have sat with the squad, but sometimes I get tired of all the questions and speculation about Lee and myself. I mean they're my friends and all but it gets old after a while. I thought this would be a safe place to sit since you are alone."  
  
I would really love to ask about her and Lee but after her opening statement, decide to hold off, and instead begin with a more general topic. "The Commander speaks very highly of you, Starbuck. He says you're the best pilot he's ever seen. High praise from him. From what I understand, he was considered one of the best when he flew."  
  
She seems a little uncomfortable, then speaks, "The Commander also speaks highly of you, Kylen."  
  
Interesting, Bill has been discussing me with Starbuck. Hmm, I begin to see Bill's devious hand in this. "So the Commander talked to you about me? How did that particular conversation start?" I am giving her my best "Medical Look of Disbelief" as I say this.  
  
She looks a little embarrassed, gives a sigh and finally blurts out, "The Commander was talking with me the other day, and well, he's been aware of the tension between us and recommended that I should get to know you better."  
  
This does not surprise me; I knew Bill was aware that Starbuck and I had some issues between us. I knew he would eventually do something about it. I just miscalculated how soon he would act. Devious bastard, but sweet.  
  
She looks at me, and I can see she wants to ask a question but is holding back.  
  
"Go ahead, ask away." I say with a wave of my hand. She is surprised but takes me up on my invitation. "Kylen, what's going on between you and the Commander? I've heard a lot of rumors, and you two spend a lot of time together. That is, if you don't mind my asking?" Hmm, unless I'm way off, it seems Starbuck has been doing some off-hours recon regarding the relationship between Bill and myself.  
  
Now that is a loaded question. Yes, I normally would mind her asking about the Commander and me, but now that I know that Bill sees her as an extended family member, and given the effort she is making I will answer her queries.  
  
I keep my voice low, aware that we are in the mess hall. Even though no one is sitting anywhere near us, walls sometimes have ears. "That is a difficult question, Starbuck. If you want to believe the rumors, then the Commander and I are in an intense romantic relationship and only my skills as a doctor save him from sure death from our sexual exploits." I can see I have shocked her but I continue. "If you want the truth, then the Commander and I are close friends who enjoy some similar interests, and spending our off time together. Where it goes from there is anyone's guess." I hope that she doesn't pick up on the frustration in my voice when I said that last line.  
  
While I was talking Starbuck has leaned forward in her seat. She keeps her voice soft as she speaks. "When I asked Lee, he said I should mind my own business." I must have reacted to that because Starbuck gives me a sharp look and asks, "What?"  
  
I sigh and say, "Lee should be the last person telling anyone to mind their business since he was the first person to bring up that question to me."  
  
Her eyes go wide then narrow. "That sneaky daggit. Frak, he had me fooled."  
  
Since we are on the relationship theme, I decide to return the favor. I too have been doing some recon of my own. "Starbuck, do you mind if I ask what your relationship to Lee is? I've seen you both together a lot. I know I haven't had to patch you or your sparring partners up after a "match" lately. Your brig time is way below average, and I have heard rumors that you and Lee are involved." I watch as she looks down then returns her gaze to me, a slight blush is on her face.  
  
"The other pilots have been getting on my case about how I get along with Lee, but, I didn't realize people outside the pilots' quarters would notice a change in my behavior too." Starbuck replies.  
  
I look her in the eye and respond. "I'm not spying on you and Lee." At her look of disbelief I amend my previous statement. "What I mean is that as the CMO, my job is to look for and be aware of any problems with the crew before they become significant. I "notice" a lot, and not just about you and Lee. I also have a source who happens to know, and has an interest in both you and Lee. Look, I'm sorry. You don't have to say anything."  
  
She is quiet for a minute then speaks, "Lee and I were in flight school together. We even roomed together for a while until Zac started at the Academy and I moved in with him. I've known Lee a long time. He's a good friend. One of the few I have left. I feel comfortable around him. He comes across as Mr By-The-Book, but there is a lot more to him. We have known each other for so long, it's like he knows what I am thinking before I do. He understands me and is comfortable to be around. Although lately..." she trails off and I have the impression she wants to say more.  
  
We are two people who are trying to meet each other half-way. It seems to me that given whom our names are linked with, we probably should be best friends. "Look, I know we have had some differences in the past, but we now have some pretty big things in common, and by that I mean men whose last name happens to be Adama. If you want to talk, I'm a pretty good listener and I won't go chatting to everyone. I have enough problems with rumors not to go starting any."  
  
"I've been hearing quite a few rumors about you two." Starbuck says with a grin as she settles back in her chair. "Some of them are pretty racy if you get my drift. To be honest, I think a lot of the females are jealous. As to what I believe, I think what you and the Commander do is your own business. I do know that you're good for him. Before you came along, I think the last time I really heard him laugh was, well a long time ago. Almost another life." She stops for a minute then gives a heavy sigh.  
  
I look at her and I see a mirror of myself when I am trying to figure Bill out. "Look it may help you to talk about Lee."  
  
She is not looking at me when she blurts out, "I sometimes think Lee may want us to be a little closer, you know, more than just friends."  
  
I have seen the good captain around his best pilot and think she is probably right. "Well, even I can tell he enjoys spending time with you. He is usually a very controlled person. With you he lets some of his walls down. From what I have seen I think Lee values you not only as a pilot, but as a friend, a person he can talk to and not worry about how he perceived. He is still young for the CAG position. I can't believe I am saying this, but your relationship, whatever it is, gives him support, it helps him deal with all his new responsibilities. It's not totally unheard of for people to go from friends into a more intimate relationship."  
  
"Sex ruins relationships." That is a very telling statement. Bill had said Starbuck and Zac had got along well. She had taken his death hard. I wonder if there is more to that story or if she had a bad experience with a different man.  
  
I give a sigh then say. "It can. It can also bring a friendship to a different level. I'm probably not the best person to talk to about relationships. Lords know the closest I ever came to commitment was an engagement that lasted about three months."  
  
She looks really curious at this tidbit of information and asks, "Why only three months?"  
  
For a second I remember the hurt, but quickly leave that time in my life behind. In hindsight, I know that loser would have made me miserable. I just shake my head say, "Because I was a better surgeon than him."  
  
Starbuck manages to look both shocked and angry at the same time as she exclaims, "Frak me!" Everyone in the officers' mess turns to look at us. She looks sheepish, then continues in a quieter voice, "Lee has his problems but he has never let our both being pilots interfere with being friends."  
  
"Look, Starbuck, I think you can't put a present relationship into what happened in the past. Each time it's different. I am not trying to play matchmaker, Lords know I have enough emotional issues on my plate. However, you just may want to let things develop on their own and see where you end up. You may find the benefits out-weight the risks."  
  
"How many emotional issues are on your plate?" Starbuck asks. "I can keep my mouth shut, too. I even promise not to tell Lee." She is leaning forward, her eyes are intent. From the way she picked up that one stray phrase, I think I see a little glimmer of the truly lethal weapon she must be in the cockpit of a viper.  
  
I sigh and make a decision. If anyone has a clue about Bill, it has to be her. She has known him longer than I and is practically a part of his family. I could never picture me having this conservation with Lee.  
  
I lean forward and start in a quiet voice. "While the Commander and I are good friends, I can't say I wouldn't mind being closer. For now he's the one running the show. I'm not pushing, but I find at times the rumors and the uncertainty are getting to me. I don't know how long I'm going to wait for him to decide." It feels good finally to tell someone all the things that I've been thinking.  
  
She looks surprised that I could even consider telling the Commander to take a hike, or is it more that I want an intimate relationship with him? "Wow! You would leave him? Why? Where would you go?"  
  
"There are some people who can have a relationship and be good friends when it breaks up. I am not one of those people. I would resign my commission and take a medical position on the Lenna Dell. It wouldn't be easy, but I would do it."  
  
I know my own thoughts confuse me, now it seems they have confused Starbuck as well. She has that lost look when she replies, "But you said that you are both good friends and not romantically involved. So why leave?"  
  
"Because, this whatever relationship I have with the Commander means something to me. If I drop it, I am going to need space to recover. It would be too hard seeing him everyday."  
  
She thinks for a minute then comes to a decision and begins to talk. "The Commander is a hard man to read. His ex-wife always used to say that she had to guess what he was thinking. They were very close, but after Zac..." She looks sad and breaks eye contact for a second, then sighs and continues. "After Zac's death the Commander became more withdrawn and Ilyia seemed to become needier. Lee wasn't helping, first accusing his father of killing Zac, and then plain not speaking to him. Lee did keep in touch with his mother. I just stood there and watched it all go up in smoke. Both the Commander and Ilyia decided that their marriage wasn't working. He just couldn't give her what she needed. The divorce was amicable, and I know they kept in touch after it was final."  
  
She is not telling me anything I do not already know about Bill, at least the bare facts that are in his records. But, he keeps a lot of things to himself. The information about what led to his divorce is concerning. If Bill really feels that he cannot share emotionally then I have no hope. I am in general not a needy person. There are times when I definitely need my space. Bill has always seemed to understand and respect that. I wonder if he likes the fact that I do not demand more attention. What a frak'n mess. I come out of my introspection. I decide to repeat my new mantra, "Be patient, Kylen".  
  
I lean back in my chair and make an observation. "So from where I sit the picture is like this. I would like a closer relationship with the Commander, but he seems to prefer being friends. You would prefer to be friends, but Lee seems to want more than that. Can things get any more messed up? Oh yeah, no coffee." Starbuck chimes in, "No cigars."  
  
We both laugh and salute each other.  
  
"Adama men are never easy but they are interesting," says Starbuck with a smile on her face. I smile back. What do you know comrades in arms?  
  
I am about to continue when I spot two familiar figures walking toward our table. From the look on both their faces I am sure they are they are concerned about what Starbuck and I have been discussing. We two conspirators share a glance.  
  
Lee only has eyes for Starbuck, but Bill is staring at me with that intense gaze of his and speaks first, "What are you two talking about?"  
  
Starbuck and I share another glance then I reply, "Would you believe men?"  
  
"Anyone I know?" His expression can only be described as self-satisfied. Interestingly enough, Lee is wearing an identical expression.  
  
"Do you know the assistant to President Roslyn? I believe his name is Billy something?" Both Lee and Bill wear identical expressions of surprise. Starbuck is just smiling. Ha! Got you. Of course, Bill recovers first. "Are you going to be here for a while? Mind if Lee and I join you?"  
  
*************************************************  
  
It's my birthday and I can say that it has been one of the best ever. No, it's not the best because I took a day off to spend on the pleasure ship having fun. I actually worked a steady twelve hours. And it's not because we had a big bash in the Life Station. Being the CMO does have advantages and in the ship records I have conveniently made my date of birth top- secret Level One clearance only. No one on my staff knows and I have done my best to keep today just like the others. I do not like big parties. That happened when I turned 40 and got an over-the-hill birthday cake, complete with black balloons. Yep, no big parties for me.  
  
It's because Bill got me the best birthday gift. Ever.  
  
It started earlier today when he asked me to come over to his quarters for some dinner after our shifts. When I asked why dinner in his quarters, he gave me the "Command Stare" and said, "I have top priority clearance. I know today is your birthday." Devious bastard. Let me amend that to sweet devious bastard.  
  
In his quarters he had turned down the lights and there were candles on the table in front of the couch. Dinner was good. Real food not protein supplements. It would have been great except for the synthetic coffee. Lords, that even sounds wrong. Bill was, as always, an excellent dinner companion. It was over dessert that he handed me a box.  
  
His look was intense when he handed me a small box about 2 inches wide by three inches long, wrapped in bright blue paper and tied with a yellow ribbon as he said, "Happy Birthday, Kylen."  
  
I was surprised, but pleased he went to the trouble to get me something. The dinner alone was more than enough. Before I even opened the box I decided to be brave and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek saying, "Thank you. You really didn't have to, but I'm glad you did." I gave him a sly look with a smile and said, "Hmm, too small to be a book." We both laughed at that.  
  
I gave the box a shake, but I heard no rattling. I tested its weight, and it felt light. Jewelry? Bill did not seem like a man who gives women jewelry. I held it up to the light to see if the wrapping was truly opaque. I knew Bill had reached the end of his tolerance when I very carefully began to untie the ribbon.  
  
He looked exasperated, as he demanded, "Just open it, Kylen, you don't have to do an autopsy on it." If I didn't know better, I would have said he was nervous.  
  
I opened my gift and looked at it in awe. I never would have guessed it in a million years. It was perfect. How he ever found something so rare and beautiful was beyond me. I felt tears enter my eyes. I was so overwhelmed I didn't know what to say.  
  
I must have sat like that for a while because Bill's smile started to fade and he looked worried, like he had done something wrong. "I hope you like it. Not everyone would. I admit it's not much."  
  
I knew he never expected my response, as I felt his startled reaction when I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss right on his mouth. His lips were firm and warm under mine. I will definitely have some good dreams tonight. I could have kissed him forever but finally pulled back. When I did, Bill looked completely shocked. I smiled and said, "It's absolutely perfect. This is the best birthday gift EVER. I have never received anything like it. This is ..." I was having a hard time putting my feelings into words. I watched a parade of emotions cross his usually unreadable face, to eventually settle on relief mingled with something I couldn't quite identify.  
  
My best birthday gift ever was a small packet of instant coffee.  
  
I still have no idea how he got it. I immediately made the coffee and split the cup with him. How romantic.  
  
Now it is late and we are slow dancing to some music he has. I have already warned him about my lack of dancing talent. He told me, "If I can command the Galactica, I can take a risk dancing with you." Now I am in his arms my head resting on his shoulder.  
  
I decide to ask the big question in my mind and pull back so I can look into his eyes. "How in all the Fleet did you manage to find coffee for my birthday?"  
  
He is smiling and wearing a smug expression when he replies, "I have my methods. Let's just say I called in a few favors."  
  
I try and give him a good "Medical Stare of Disbelief", but am too happy to put much effort into it. "I hope not expensive favors."  
  
He pulls me back against him and I can feel his chuckles. "I'm not saying. The results were well worth the cost." Hmm, I wonder what that means.  
  
We continue to slow dance. When I comment that he is a good dancer he says, "It's the boxing, keeps me light on my feet." We both laugh.  
  
You know, on the whole it is my best birthday ever. Be patient, Kylen.  
  
End 


	7. Epidemic & The Conversation Part 1

Ok. This is the final chapter in this story. I am thinking of a sequel. This is a little more introspective from Kylen's point of view than usual. Hopefully you'll like it. Please read at your own risk. Special thanks to Lona who reads, reviews and beats me up if I don't send her a chapter (just kidding). The Lenna Dell use to belong to Crys but is now mine.  
  
Chapter 7: Epidemic & the Conversation  
  
It's evening, Galactica time. I'm in Bill's quarters working on my new needlepoint based on a picture of the Kobol Mountain Range I took during my vacation to the Canceran National Park about three years ago. I'm sitting crossed legged on his couch, while he is at the desk looking over some reports. I hear him sigh again.  
  
I look up and say, "Ok, spill it. That's the fourth sigh in less than fifteen minutes. Yes, I've been counting. It can't be that bad."  
  
He turns and looks at me from over the tops of his reading glasses. "Just some reports I need to go over. Both Col.Tigh and I have to be at a 0800 meeting in the Wardroom with all branches the civilian government tomorrow. They want an update on weapons and military readiness."  
  
I give him a smile and a sympathetic look. "Ouch. Poor Commander. Want me to go instead? I can get some of that command experience you threatened me with?"  
  
He gives me a smile that reaches his eyes and says, "Now there's a thought. No, I wouldn't put this duty on anyone. Besides shouldn't you be discussing medical matters with the new Fleet Surgeon General?"  
  
I wince. Dr. Lessing, the recently appointed Fleet Surgeon General is an ass. Dr. Dan Janner, the Chief of Staff on the Lenna Dell, and I have already had one meeting with him, after that he's been dodging both of us. Where they found this political hack with a medical degree is beyond Dan and me. Bill doesn't need more headaches right now so I refrain from voicing my opinion about our Surgeon General, and reply, "I tried to speak with him directly, but could only get his secretary. I had a complete report sent to him on the military medical issues and readiness."  
  
"Did that report include the level four quarantine measures started last week after our discussion?" Bill can sometimes be like a daggit with a bone. He looks tired. He always has such a presence and vitality I forget that he is sixty years old, thirteen years older than me. I reply, "Yes it did. You worry about bullets and vipers; I'll take care of the band-aids."  
  
As I watch him I have an idea. I put down my needlepoint and walk over to his desk. His eyes follow me. I must look like I have something nefarious in mind because he takes off his glasses, eyes my approach warily, and questions, "What?"  
  
I'm in the process of turning his chair so he is again facing the desktop as I say, "You, always with questions. Well here's one. Did I ever tell you what I did in medical school to get some extra money?"  
  
He thinks for a second then replies, "I don't think so. Was it something illegal?"  
  
I smile. "Hmm, I'm surprised you don't already know. Your network must be slipping. Anyway, I did some part-time work at a rather exclusive Canceran spa as a masseuse. Now just relax and tell me what is so bad about government meetings. I thought you liked President Roslyn?"  
  
Earlier he had taken off his duty uniform jacket and is wearing the regulation military tee shirts. This would be better if I had a real massage table, and no shirts, but for an impromptu stress reliever it should be ok. I tell him to lean forward over the desktop and use his crossed arms to pillow his head. He hesitates for a second then complies with my directions. For a second I'm not sure if he'll go along with what I have planned. While he's comfortable when he initiates physical contact, he does not always appreciate it when I do. I tentatively begin to work the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Lords, he's tense.  
  
He sighs then talks, "President Roslyn is not the problem, or only a small part of it. It's dealing with the bureaucrats and all the petty politics. These people should be working together for the survival of the human race and the good of the Fleet. Most of the time it's political posturing." He grunts as I hit a particularly tense spot. "You have good hands."  
  
I'm glad he seems to be enjoying this and decide to tease him a little. "I have great hands. On a military salary you could never afford a session with me. Come to think of it I should probably charge you. Never know when a few extra cubits may come in handy."  
  
"You know, I've been discussing command training classes with Saul. He thinks it's a good idea too." Devious bastard, but I love the way his mind works.  
  
"Have I ever told you that you have a devious mind?"  
  
"On several occasions, although usually 'bastard' follows the word 'devious'. Seriously, Kylen, given the current state of the military, command training classes for all officers no matter what branch is just a matter of time." He is quiet for a second, and then continues, his voice a mix of contentment and almost accusation. "This is really good. You've been holding out on me. I've given you how many massages and only now you decide to return the favor? How come you've kept this particular talent a secret? "  
  
That's a good question, and I don't have a good answer. Or at least one I want to talk about. But Bill deserves to know. "I wasn't keeping it a secret, I didn't think about it until just now. Bill, I haven't given anyone a massage in over twenty years. When I was in medical school it got out that I worked as a masseuse in my spare time. I started getting all sorts of propositions from fellow students, residents, and more than one attending. They thought masseuse was another term for prostitute. It made for a very uncomfortable situation. When I graduated med school, I jumped at the chance to join the service for further training at Picon Fleet Hospital. Once there I didn't tell anyone my secret. No matter how close to me." I stop for a minute and hope he understands.  
  
I cannot see his face but his voice is without accusation when he replies, "Sorry, it must have been hard to be hassled like that, especially by people who had significant influence over your future. Although now that I think on it, if you keep this up I may let you out of command classes."  
  
I smile. How does he manage to get right to the heart of the matter? I return to the other part of his previous statement. "About those command classes, if you think they're a good idea and want to start them I'll comply. However, I should warn you, I hate classes. I always sat in the last row near the wall in medical school. Once there were only about twenty people in a two hundred and fifty person lecture hall. The professor kept asking us to move down. I stayed in the last row."  
  
"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" We both fall silent for a moment.  
  
I decide to pursue my previous line of questioning. "So the politicians are protecting their little domains. That bothers you. Why?"  
  
"Wastes my time. I feel like President Roslyn just wants me there as her trained military pet. You know, a show of power to let the other government branches know the Galactica backs her. I don't think anyone hears a damn thing I say. It gets annoying at times." I never knew he felt that way about her. In public he supports her unconditionally.  
  
So, our president is using Bill as the stick to get her civilian government in line. I have to admit that is politically savvy thinking. I decide to ask, "Have you ever brought this up with the President?"  
  
I feel Bill shift under my hands with that question. "No. And I never will. I would appreciate you not telling anyone either." That last statement hurts me. Bill should know I don't tell tales out of school. I must have reacted in some way because he continues, "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm not sure if you understand the complexities in my dealings with our president."  
  
"You want to explain them to me?" He sighs and continues on. "The President and I did not get off to a great start. It was actually her idea to run from the Cylons. I originally wanted to stay and fight." Bill is still talking but his attempt at clarification is very vague. I have the feeling there's a secret Bill and the President share. A secret I do not know. I decide not to push him, but I am curious.  
  
"You could always declare martial law, take over the government. You're the man with the biggest ship and all the bullets." I already know the answer to this statement but it may help if he hears himself say it out loud.  
  
"The people need a civilian government. Eventually they would rebel under military rule. Kylen, I know why we need a government, I just don't happen to like dealing with it. I've been in the Colonial Fleet all my life; I've never been interested in playing military or civilian political games." He continues on. I had always wondered why Bill was still commanding an out- of-date battlestar given his illustrious military career; anyone else would have been an Admiral. Now I know. Bill refused to play military political games.  
  
I keep one part of my mind on what he is saying, and reply at all the appropriate times. The other part is enjoying the feel of his skin and muscles under my hands. The tension in his neck and shoulders is finally gone. This would be so much better if he would lose the shirts. Be patient, Kylen.  
  
I stop the massage, leaving my hands on his shoulders and ask, "Feel better?"  
  
As he stands up and turns around to face me, my hands fall away. He is smiling and although he still looks tired, he seems more relaxed. "Thanks, that was amazing." He looks at the clock. "It's late. You'd better get going. I need to stay up a little longer and finish these reports. I'll walk you back to your quarters."  
  
He's such a gentleman. I smile and say, "Stay here and finish up. I'll walk myself back. But don't stay up too late. Doctor's orders." I pick up my needlepoint and he gives me a quick kiss to my forehead as I leave.  
  
******  
  
My wake up alarm rudely takes me from my dream, another one about Bill and me. Damn, Kylen, that is the third time this week. In the hopes that reading trashy romances is the cause of my vivid dreams, I have given them up. It hasn't helped. I am in deep water, without a life vest and sinking fast. Oh yeah, I don't have coffee either.  
  
I review the facts as I get up and get dressed. Bill and I spend a significant amount of time together in public and private settings. We dine and exercise together. Yes, I'm even boxing. I may begin to like it sometime next year. We continue to spend time off shift together in his quarters. So far I have gotten from him a few hugs, some fabulous back massages and the occasional peck on the cheek or forehead; I even had one real kiss (Ok, I kissed him).  
  
I've come to know the signs when he prefers I do not get closer. We have not revisited "The Conversation". I would be all for a little more action and a lot less words, but for now, I'm letting him set the pace and tone. However I'm getting tired of this. I feel like I've lost control of my own life. Who's running my life? Him or me?  
  
What do I want out of this relationship? Why am I pushing this? I have always had horrible luck in my romantic relationships. Being friends has always worked way better for me. If this was just about sex it wouldn't be so hard, at least I don't think so. I want more than just physical gratification with Bill. What is there about Bill that makes me want more? I want more so badly that I can't just be friends. I will have to walk away if this is as far as it goes. My heart (or my body) cannot take having him so close if he's going to post "keep off" signs.  
  
Bill has become such a presence in my life I find it hard to picture how things were before. This will sound strange coming from me, but he's like a piece of me that was missing for a long time and now is back in place. He challenges me, gives me space when I need it, and has an almost psychic ability to know when I need him around. He has an amazing sense of humor, and while we come from different backgrounds, we both understand the stress of command. The fact that I am the CMO and a doctor does not intimidate him.  
  
Somewhere in the course of knowing him I fell in love with Commander William Adama. I want him as more than a friend, I want to be able to spend time with him after a shift talking over the goings on in the Life Station or in CIC, I want to be there when he needs to let off steam because of bureaucratic crap, I want to be able to lean on him when things get hard. But I'm still not sure if he wants the same. I do know this, things cannot continue as they are. I can no longer be happy as a good friend. I can no longer stand the emotional limbo we seem to be floating in. If something doesn't change soon I will hand in my resignation from the Colonial Service and set up shop on the Dell. It would be the hardest thing I've ever done, but I will do it rather than live like this.  
  
Damn, that sexy dream ruined my day before it even began. And we were doing so well last night.  
  
The com interrupts my morning musings. Dee from CIC is relaying a message from the Lenna Dell.  
  
I hear the voice of Dr. Dan Janner, Chief of Staff on the Lenna Dell. "Kylen, sorry to call at his time but I think we have a problem." Not good when the Chief of Staff of the main hospital ship has a problem, any problem. It usually means it will be my problem soon.  
  
I reply, "Dan, does this have anything to do with the memo you sent me last week about reporting any cases of that flu-like illness? I know we've been looking and so far no cases. I even instituted level four screening protocols for all crew that have traveled to other fleet ships. What's up?"  
  
Dan sounds somewhat relieved. "Good, good. At least you took the memo seriously."  
  
I'm rather testy before I get my caffeine fix and state, "Dan, spill it. You know how hard it is for me until I've had my coffee, I mean that damn protein coffee substitute that is worse than dishwater."  
  
"Sorry. You know, some of the guys in genetics are just as maniacal about coffee as you. They are trying to reverse engineer a coffee plant from DNA they extracted from a coffee bean."  
  
"I know, Dan; I was the one who donated the last few coffee beans I had to the project. So what's up?"  
  
"Our newly appointed Fleet Surgeon General, Dr Lessing, is an ass. He received my memo and did nothing about it. No warning to civilian ships, no screening, no isolation. Nadda, zip. I now have on my desk requests for transferring ten patients from four different civilian ships to the Dell because of deterioration in their condition from a strange viral-like illness. Kylen, one of the two patients we had from last week just died last night. The other one is critical. Nothing so far is working. In the hopes of slowing progression of the disease, we tried to slow down the body's metabolic rate and functions by placing the two patients in stasis chambers. It slows progression a little, but doesn't stop it. With these ten new cases, I'm afraid we may be dealing with the start of an epidemic."  
  
If anything is going to wake me up, it's the word "epidemic", well that and trauma.  
  
"Lords, Dan. Are you sure they all have the same disease? Has anyone on your team examined them?"  
  
"I sent some people out when we got the heads up. The preliminary reports are all the same. The initial presentation began about two weeks ago as a flu-like illness, and then seemed to improve a little. Over the next week, the patients developed escalation in their breathing problems, high fevers, increased muscle aches and pains, severe headaches, and finally respiratory failure, eventually requiring mechanical support. Soon after that, the body started to shut down. None of the antibiotics or anti-viral agents we have tried works so far."  
  
I am now wide-awake and very worried. "Have you tried recontacting Dr Lessing?"  
  
I can feel the frustration in Dan's voice over the com as he answers. "You better believe it, several times in fact. I always get a 'he'll get back to you'. This morning I was informed he was in a meeting aboard Galactica and could not be disturbed for any reason."  
  
"Ok Dan, here's the plan. I'm going to crash the meeting to have a discussion with our General Idiot. How do you want to handle this? We can use a hangar bay as an isolation ward here on Galactica if needed."  
  
Dan thinks about what I've said then replies, "I'll take these first ten cases on the Lenna Dell, however, if this is as bad as my people are predicting, we may need that hangar bay. For now we'll use the Dell as the primary referral site and keep Galactica as back up. If more new cases crop up today, however, I may send a few your way."  
  
"Sounds like a plan. If this is as bad as you say the Dell will need some back up. I'm off to speak with Dr. Lessing. Let's see if we can do this without spilling any blood. I'll be in touch."  
  
I finish changing into my duty uniform. Thanks to my conversation with Bill last night, I know what time and where the President has her meetings. As I approach the Wardroom, I see two giant Galactica marines guarding the entrance. Do they select marines based on size? They are at attention and give me the crispest salute I have ever seen. The one on the right looks down at me and states, "Sorry, Doctor, there's a meeting in progress and no one is allowed to enter."  
  
This would be so much better if I were taller. I look way up into his eyes, and give him my best "Medical Attending Stare" while saying, "Look, I'm here about a fleet-wide medical emergency. Given that, and my position as CMO, I can enter any meeting I want. That is unless you want to be directly responsible for thousands of civilian and military deaths." Ok, a bit dramatic, but I want to get things set up back in the Life Center and the longer I chit-chat here the longer I am not getting my team ready. If Dan is talking about ten cases that he knows of, there are more out there.  
  
The man I am talking to gets really wide eyes, looks at his partner, reaches for the hatch and opens it. The Wardroom is filled with President Roslyn, her aide and cabinet members, the Commander and Col. Tigh, and the Quorum of Twelve members. Oh and Dr. Lessing, our soon to be deposed Fleet Surgeon General – if I have my way. All eyes are on me. I guess no one expected the CMO to join the party.  
  
President Roslyn is looking better lately. She has lost the pale drawn look and has put on some weight. The chemo treatments on the Dell are working. She gives me a questioning look over her reading glasses and states, "Doctor, this is a government meeting, I'm afraid any medical issues will have to go through Dr. Lessing our Surgeon General."  
  
"Sorry, Madam President, but this can't wait. I just received a com message from the Lenna Dell about a possible epidemic in the fleet. This needs to be addressed now." Despite being CMO on Galactica, I can't make the civilian fleet do squat. I can, however, make military medical decisions. I figure the civilians will do whatever Galactica does. Sometimes size does matter and Galactica is the biggest ship in the fleet.  
  
I turn and look at the Commander and Col Tigh. I give Bill a salute that he returns. I bet I'm the only one who caught his look of surprise at that salute. I begin to speak. "Commander, I just got off the com with Dr. Janner on the Lenna Dell. Based on information he relayed to me this morning, I am issuing a Level-one medical emergency for all military vessels. We are upgrading quarantine measures. No one leaves the Galactica for another ship unless they have hazmat gear, and when they return I am subjecting them to a complete physical and blood tests. I am also putting a hold on any traffic to and from Galactica unless it gets command approval. Anyone coming to Galactica will first go through Level 1 quarantine and a complete medical exam. Oh, the Dell is going to need to borrow a few shuttles to transfer the sick from the civilian ships, and if more cases are reported I may need to set up an isolation ward in one of our hangar bays."  
  
Bill is looking at me; he has an idea of what's going on. In addition to our discussion last night, a week ago over our morning cup of synthetic dishwater, I mean "coffee", I explained Dan's memo and what I wanted to do. He listened to about half of it then interrupted saying, "Kylen, you know your job better than I do. If you feel it's necessary then we'll do it."  
  
It's Col. Tigh who asks, "You think it's that serious?"  
  
I move my head to include the Colonel in the conversation. "Last week two patients were sent to the Dell for treatment of a flu-like illness. Their condition progressed despite intensive medical therapy. So far everything the Dell has thrown at the two patients hasn't worked. One died, even in stasis, and the second is in critical condition. This morning the Dell received reports of ten more similar cases. It's that serious and going to get worse. "  
  
President Roslyn is a good woman, but she can't be expected to make the right decisions if she doesn't have all the data. And obviously her new Surgeon General hasn't been giving it to her. She looks both horrified and irritated at the same time. The rest of the cabinet and the Quorum of Twelve are all muttering in the background. She has to almost shout to be heard over the dim of conversation. "Doctor, are you sure this is necessary? The civilian ships follow what Galactica does very carefully. A move like this will send panic through the fleet. Not to mention the effect on morale, it's been about a year since the destruction of the colonies and our escape at Ragnar. Only recently have people begun to live again. I also want to know how come the Fleet Surgeon General was not informed."  
  
A rather portly, balding man stands and throws me an evil glance. Good. Dr Lessing has finally decided to throw in his two cubits, "This is the first I have heard about any fleet illness. I received no memo about any precautions. Madam President, Dr Salik and her friends on the Dell have been obstructionary ever since I was appointed to this post. They are secretative and.."  
  
I've had it with Dr. Lessing, and interrupt his medical conspiracy theory. "President Roslyn, a memo was sent out from the Dell last week regarding two cases of a particularly virulent viral illness to both the Galactica and the Fleet Surgeon General's office. The memo recommended instituting some screening procedures, limiting travel in the fleet for a few days, and watching for any similar viral-like illnesses. The Commander can tell you we discussed this memo last week. I cannot say why Dr. Lessing has not done the same with you. Dr. Janner on the Dell notified me this morning about the death of one patient, and ten potential new cases. He also told me he tried to reach Dr. Lessing several times. I would strongly recommend the same procedures be instituted throughout the fleet now. As I've said, this is bad, Madam President, and it's going to get worse."  
  
I turn to look at Dr. Lessing and say, "Both Dr. Janner and I are going to set up a meeting with you once we stabilize this situation." As I leave the room I can hear President Roslyn begin questioning the good doctor.  
  
***************************  
  
It's later that morning and I'm in the Life Station. All my team has been briefed. Dee has set up a secure communication line between the Dell and Galactica. The Fleet Surgeon General is nowhere around, so Dan and myself are overseeing quarantine procedures for the civilian fleet. I would bet a whole bag of coffee beans, if I had any, he has isolated himself until this is over. I hope the president fires him. Dan would make an excellent Surgeon General. The ten cases are on the Dell but our Life Station will be getting the next few new ones. Dan has already called me about another four.  
  
The doctors on the Dell have traced the origin of the infection to the Intersun Luxury Liner that now serves as a vacation resort for the fleet. Not good. As people come and go over there all the time lots of people will have already been exposed. Dan is on the com. My staff and I listen as he updates us on the ten patients previously transferred to the Dell this morning, and what his team has been able to find out about this illness. They have already started the autopsy on the first victim to try and get some clues on how to fight this. He has also sent a team to the Intersun to see if there are any extraneous factors, which could be playing a role. Most of his patients already have respiratory symptoms. One is in stasis. As the call ends and my staff leave, I see a familiar figure at my door and wave him in. The Commander walks into my office and closes the door.  
  
He is looking tired and frustrated. I bet that frustrated look is because of me.  
  
He takes a seat, and with a sigh begins speaking. "That was quite an entrance you made, Kylen. Dr. Lessing is playing you up as the ringleader in a plot to make him look bad. I think more than.."  
  
His words are not unexpected. Bill hates surprises. In hindsight, I should have told him what an idiot Dr. Lessing is but for the life of me I can't think of anything he could have done to rectify the situation. I will give Bill the "boiled down" version on Dr. Lessing so I can deal with the epidemic. If he still wants he can chew me out later. I interrupt him, "Look, Bill, he was given the memo same as I was. He did nothing to institute precautions. The man is a quack. He got the job because he knew people not because he is an even average physician. Ok, I was abrupt but it had to be done otherwise if this illness runs throughout the fleet we may have no humanity to protect."  
  
He looks surprised at that. I remember he's a military man, accustomed to fighting a known enemy. He could quote me all the stats for casualties and expected losses from a battle, but he has no clue how bad this may get. He needs to understand just what type of disaster we may be dealing with here.  
  
I lean forward in my chair and start speaking. "Bill, do you know how many people died in the last Caprican flu epidemic about 5 years ago?"  
  
I watch him thinking until he comes to a decision and finally says, "Not really, a few hundred."  
  
I shake my head at such naiveté. "Bill, in three weeks that virus wiped out 50,000 people among the 12 colonies before it was stopped. This is just as bad as the Cylons, probably worse. We can't FTL away from it, and we have nowhere near the medical resources we once had. Not to mention we are over-crowded together on ships with limited atmosphere."  
  
I watch as he absorbs the information. He looks frustrated, and I can understand why. This is a battle he can only stand on the sidelines and watch. Not something he's accustomed to doing. From nowhere a thought enters my head that I could use a hug right now. If I were braver I would ask him for one. We both stand, but instead of leaving he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me. WOW who knew I had ESP? It feels good and for a few minutes I don't think and just enjoy. My guy can be one really sweet devious bastard when he wants.  
  
He gives a light kiss to my forehead and pulls back saying, "Are you and your staff ready for this?" I give him a quick nod of my head. "I'm going up to CIC. There are isolated reports of panic among the civilian fleet about the epidemic. I may need to use the marines to keep things calm. We'll speak later." He turns, opens the door and leaves.  
  
I sit for a minute. I know he tends to let his actions speak for him, especially with regards to US. I sigh.  
  
I will deal with this crisis. If we all live, I plan on having "The Conversation part II" with Bill. While I am sure it will be the kiss of death, I do not plan to wait anymore. One crisis at a time, Kylen, one crisis at a time.  
  
********  
  
The next few hours we get the four new patients transferred from the civilian fleet, even worse, a lieutenant from Starbuck's viper squadron has come down with similar symptoms. Hopefully we've isolated everyone he was in contact with. It turns out he had won a pass to the Intersun in a card game and his name had not been on the crew roster for "shore leave". That is not good. It means the crew has been exposed to this virus. Damn, I was hoping the screening measures would be enough. I have never been lucky.  
  
Over two weeks more new cases appear both in the fleet and on Galactica. The Dell and Galactica medical personnel are working non-stop either treating the victims, or working on identification the virus and any medication that might be effective. Since the Dell has the most up-to-date laboratories, the basic science research on the virus and possible ways to fight it is being done there. Here on Galactica, we are doing everything we can to keep the patients alive. I try to remember the last time I saw Bill. I may have spoken to him on the com a few hours ago but I cannot be sure. My focus has become the isolation ward in the hangar bay, the Life Station and the Dell.  
  
Among the civilian fleet, the total infected is about one thousand. A quarter of Galactica's crew has been affected. To date, there have been one hundred deaths, several more are being kept barely alive in stasis, and the rest are in various stages of the disease. Besides the isolation ward in Galactica's hangar bay we also set up two smaller auxiliary isolation wards among the larger civilian ships. Dan and most of his team have relocated to the Galactica to help. On top of this, we still have to deal with the day-to-day health issues. Needless to say, all the medical staff are being pushed to their limits.  
  
The majority of affected crew are from the pilot's wing and among the deck crews. Starbuck's legendary luck is holding as she remains still healthy. Some of that luck must have rubbed off on Lee Adama as he is also well. From my occasional girl-talk with Starbuck, I know she and Lee are closer, and she seems happy so far. Of course with many of the trained pilots sick, she has been flying a lot of patrols and probably only sees Lee through the cockpit window of a viper.  
  
From what I hear, Bill, at President Roslyn's request, has dispatched some marine units among the fleet to help keep order. Bill must have his hands full, between crew shortages and maintaining civil order.  
  
I come out of the isolation ward on the hangar deck leaving Dan in charge, and slowly make my way to the Life Station. I just want to crash on my office couch a few hours and then I can go back. I notice the lights are off in my office but that my door is open. As I peek in, I see Cassie and Mark asleep on my couch. My tired mind goes off on a tangent thought. They make a cute couple. I wonder if they spend off time together. It's scary to think that between my thoughts about Bill and this epidemic I may have missed something right under my nose. I'll have to question Mark; Cassie would never crack under pressure. Damn, now I have to walk all the way to my quarters. I leave the Life Station and begin the journey. Next time I'm calling dibbs on the couch.  
  
I jump as a familiar low voice comes from behind me. "You look exhausted."  
  
"Good, I would hate to look better than I feel." Bill is a sight for sore eyes. He looks a little tired too, but gives me a smile as he comes alongside me and says, "Come on." He starts to guide me through the Galactica. We are heading to his quarters.  
  
Why are we heading to his quarters? I really only planned a two-hour break. "Look, Bill." I begin in a soft voice. We are in public after all. "I'm only taking two hours off then back to the ward. You shouldn't be around me anyway. We aren't really 100% sure that the hazmat suits will protect us."  
  
He continues to direct me toward his quarters saying, "I'll take my chances. You need to get something to eat. Come on."  
  
He ushers me into his quarters and proceeds to force a sandwich down my throat along with some juice and a cup of synthetic dishwater, I mean "coffee". I'm just sitting on his couch. I should get back to the isolation ward, but I can't seem to move. When did his couch become so comfortable? I'm trying to keep my eyes from closing as I watch him move around. He turns on some soft music and then comes over to where I am sitting and holds out his hands to give me a pull up.  
  
"I should really be going back to work. Thanks for the food." He looks at me with his patented "Command Stare" and says, "You're not going anywhere except to get some sleep." He then proceeds to maneuver me toward his bunk and into his bed.  
  
"Lie down, Kylen. You need to rest. You look ready to fall over."  
  
I lie down and he rolls me until I am on my stomach with my head on his pillow and my arms crossed beneath it. His hands begin to rub my tired shoulders. He gives the best massages, almost as good as mine. I really don't remember anything else after that.  
  
I slowly become aware that I'm warm and in a bed. How did I get here? Where is here? There's someone in bed with me. Who? Recollection sweeps through my fuzzy mind. Bill. I last remember lying on Bill's bed while he massaged my shoulders. We are under the covers and I'm not wearing my sneakers. He must have taken them off. My head is using his chest as a pillow and I can hear the steady beat of his heart. Bill is holding me close with an arm around me. I am practically lying on top of him. When I move, I can feel my leg slide against his. I should really find out the time and get back to work. His arm tightens around me and I feel a soft kiss to the top of my head, then no more. I think he is sleeping. I'm not the only one who has been keeping long hours. Ok, ten more minutes, then I get up.  
  
A soft low voice awakens me. Bill is in his duty uniform and on the com, "She's here but still asleep. I can..."  
  
"I'm up. What is it?" I'm out of his bed and moving as I speak.  
  
It is Dan calling from the isolation ward, "Kylen, I just got off the com with the virologists and pharmacology guys. They may have found something that at least seems to slow the progression in the ten cases it's been tested in. It's not a cure by any means. But this is the first success we have had since this disaster started."  
  
"Great news, Dan, best I've heard all day. I'll get a shuttle over to pick up some of this wonder stuff. How are things in the ward?"  
  
"About the same as when you left six hours ago. The Dell has not had any new cases. I am getting similar reports from the other two auxiliary isolation wards in the fleet."  
  
"Well, that's something. I'm not ready to break out the ambrosia yet. I'll be coming down to relieve you."  
  
"Ok, I could use some sleep and a shower. I'd better get back." Dan is strangely quiet when he finishes speaking.  
  
Oh yes, that's right. All the rumors are confirmed now that the Commander is in his quarters answering his com while I am sleeping in his bed. When this crisis is over Bill and I are having a long talk.  
  
Dan signs off. I turn to Bill and say, "Thanks for the food and the nap time. I better get going. I had only planned for a two-hour nap." I want to be mad at Bill and blame him for my over-long break, but somehow I can't. I really need to get back to the isolation ward.  
  
"I have fresh scrubs for you. I'm heading up to CIC. Take a shower before you go back there. Anything else I can do?"  
  
"No. And thanks." I give him a smile, a hug, and a quick kiss on the lips. He doesn't ask for more before he leaves. I wish he would. I take a shower and change into the scrubs. Hey! Where did he get my clean undergarments from? Was he rummaging around in my locker? Now that's an interesting picture, the Commander looking through my locker and drawers for underthings. I have to smile. Sweet devious bastard. I will have to remember to ask him later. I leave his quarters and walk to the hangar bay.  
  
To be continued.... 


	8. Epidemic & The Conversation Part 2

Here is part 2. It picks up shortly after part 1 leaves off. I still think it is maybe pg to PG-13, but not sure.  
  
Chapter 7 Epidemic & The Conversation Part 2  
  
If anything, my relationship with Bill keeps getting more confusing. Over the next few days Bill and I develop a new habit. He occasionally meets up with me seemingly by accident in the corridors near the Life Station. We then end up going to his quarters and after some food, fall asleep together. I have even started to keep some spare clothes and toiletries there. Is this progress? I'm not sure. He has made no other moves. I won't deny that it feels great to lie beside him in the few hours we are allowing ourselves to rest. Although he's always careful when I'm in his bed, I can feel his response to my presence. What in the names of all the Lords of Kobol are we doing?  
  
It is near the end of the third week of this epidemic. The medication from the Dell has worked to slowed the progression of the disease. We have only lost another thirty people total since we began using it. It's not a cure but it's way better than what we had. Most of the patients are here in the isolation ward on Galactica. I know the labs on the Dell are working over-time to solve this. They have already determined that this is a virus normally seen in rodents. Because of the overcrowding, and questionable sanitation practices on Intersun, the virus has managed to mutate so it can infect human hosts. As best we can determine, it spreads from human to human via an airborne route.  
  
Not a bad job. That is a lot of information for Dan's team to have acquired in a very short time period. Now we need a cure.  
  
I think it is evening shift. My days and nights are getting mixed up with all the extra shifts I pull. Bill and I are in his quarters. Bill gives me a quick hug and pushes me to the small private bathroom. "You first, I have a few things to discuss on the com with CIC."  
  
I enter the small area, change into a sleep top and pants and brush my teeth and hair and wash my face. When I return to the main room the lights are turned way down and he is off the com but still sitting at his desk. He looks deep in thought and worried. I walk over to him. I have an overwhelming urge to touch him, to touch someone warm, healthy, and alive. I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his shoulders giving him a light kiss to his ear with a whispered, "Bathroom's free." I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. I've never been this forward (except for my birthday) with him. His head jerks away from me. He abruptly stands up and moves away, turning toward me. His face is a mask not giving away any of what he is thinking.  
  
"Look, Kylen, now is not the time. We've already discussed this. Let's just be us? Nothing has changed."  
  
If he slapped me I could not be more astonished. What the hell? Why is this not the time? What brought this on? A kiss to the ear and I get the "US" speech. I must look as confused as I feel, because he walks up to me, places his hands on my shoulders and then makes me even more confused by hugging me close, kissing the top of my head and saying, "Sorry, I have a lot on my mind, I didn't mean to snap."  
  
I have no idea what just happened. I know I'm tired and probably over- reacting, but this double standard regarding physical contact is driving me crazy. I'm supposed to be able to read his mind and "know" when it's ok to touch him, but he can touch me whenever he wants. I need to get out of here before I start saying things I'll regret later. I back away from Bill saying, "Look we're both under a lot of stress, I'm going to get changed and go back to my own quarters."  
  
He's staring at me. His eyes are trying to tell me something but I can't figure it out. Bill ends up saying, "Kylen, you can stay."  
  
I shake my head as I reply, "No, Bill. I think we both need a little space right now." He doesn't stop me as I enter his bathroom; change into my scrubs and leave.  
  
Back in my quarters, I'm having difficulty getting some much-needed sleep as thoughts are running through my brain. What are you going to do now, Kylen? I'm going to do what I do best. I will deal with this epidemic like the professional I am. Bill is still putting up those "keep off" signs at the oddest times. If he would tell me what he's thinking I may be able to understand, but he is a hard man to get to open up. It seems like he has all the control here and I am waiting for a handout. When this epidemic is over, I am resigning my commission. There, problem solved.  
  
The next few days are tense as another new drug, an antibody developed against the virus, is tried on the sickest patients. So far they are stable and not deteriorating; some even show signs of improvement. It is too early to see a response. The next forty-eight hours will tell if this antibody is the answer we are looking for. I know that although I have tried to keep up my usual cheerful appearance, my staff has picked up something is wrong. I have been getting looks these last few days. Cassie even asked me if the Commander was going to be around to which I said, "There is a lot to do in CIC with a quarter of the crew ill. I doubt we'll be seeing him here until the crisis is over."  
  
It has been five weeks since the start of the epidemic. I walk into the officers' mess looking for a cup of that synthetic dishwater known as "coffee". I spy a familiar figure at a corner table. Lt Thrace, "Starbuck" is still in her flight suit, her hair is slightly matted and mussed. She looks tired. After I get my cup of (dare I say it?) "coffee" I walk over to her and say, "Starbuck, you look like you've been doing a lot of viper flying.  
  
She looks up at me and smiles saying, "Dr. Salik, you look like you've been doing a lot of doctor stuff. Have a seat."  
  
I look at her and ask, "How's Lee doing? I haven't seen any of you in a while. Given all our schedules, I'm not surprised."  
  
A funny look crosses her face and then she replies, "Lee is fine, of course his work has tripled since so many pilots are sick. How are the patients? I heard you guys were trying a new medication. Is it working?"  
  
I am happy to give some good news for a change. "It's working. All the patients are showing dramatic improvement. We have fifty out of stasis, and upgraded seventy from critical to stable. The doctors on the Dell are working on a vaccination right now. Hopefully in a few weeks everyone should be back at stations."  
  
She leans forward in her chair and stares at me while keeping her voice low. "How are you doing, Kylen? Don't try telling me you're fine. I have it on good authority that you and the Commander had a disagreement."  
  
Now I'm interested. I stare at her intently and ask, "Do I want to guess who you heard that from?"  
  
"From Lee. He and the Commander had an interesting conversation the other day. The Commander feels you've been avoiding him. He's not sure what upset you. Lee thought his dad was trying to pump him for information because he knows you and I talk."  
  
I sigh. "Kara, I appreciate your interest but I am really not in the mood to explain my actions."  
  
"It may help to talk. It helped me with Lee. You give good advice, it's about time you listen to yourself and maybe talk about what's bothering you and the Commander."  
  
I sit for a minute thinking. She has a point. I sigh again and begin. "This is between you and me. It goes nowhere. If any of what I am about to say becomes public knowledge, you can kiss your career as a viper pilot good-bye." She nods and I continue, "I've told you that so far the Commander has been setting the pace, he's the one in control of where this relationship is, or rather was going. I was ok with that in the beginning, but it's not ok now. I mean things are fine when he wants to hug me, but I have to guess if it's ok to touch him. I don't like guessing games and I definitely don't like having no control whatsoever in a relationship I have a vested interest in. Starbuck, the other night he made it plain to me that he wants US to be just friends. He may have later regretted what he said but it was real and spontaneous, and I have to think a sign of what he really wants. He means a lot to me, and I've started to want a lot from him. I can't be his friend anymore, Kara. Ahh frak. I've gone and fallen in love with him." I just sit there. Lords, Kylen, you sound pathetic. Like one of those trashy romance heroines.  
  
Starbuck interrupts my thoughts. "Kylen let me just say something here. Try to keep an open mind ok?" I nod and she continues on, "You know Lee and his father have been getting along better. They talk more. Well, Lee talks to me. I think the Commander is a little afraid about getting involved with you for a few reasons. One is the age difference; I mean you are younger than him. He may not show it but I think he may feel "inadequate". Another problem from what Lee has hinted at, and Lee can be as hard to read as his father, the Commander has a history of one failed marriage. Lee didn't help things much, when he first came on Galactica and pretty much told the Commander he was a failure as a father and husband. I think even though the split between them is better, you have to wonder if he feels he's really not good relationship material. It's been a long time since he was involved with any woman. Why not give him another chance?"  
  
She has such an earnest look on her face, I want to say yes, instead I reply, "So why doesn't he talk to me about these things? I could care less about his age. I'm not even asking for marriage. Kara, I believe two people who really care about each other share things, good things, bad things, anythings. I won't live like his ex-wife, guessing at what he's thinking. His actions say one thing, his words another, occasionally both actions and words say the same thing but that's rare. I've been in a few screwed up relationships and I can tell you no matter how many band-aids you use they don't hold together. I need more from him and he has to want to give it, otherwise it won't work."  
  
She is looking at me with sad green eyes. I have nothing else to say. "Thanks for the ear and the insight. You know, Kara, sometimes as a doctor you reach a point where nothing you do will change the outcome, and only prolongs the patient's suffering. When that time comes it's better to keep the patient comfortable and let them go in peace. Maybe it's time to let this relationship go. You take care. If you get yourself over to the Lenna Dell, look me up."  
  
Before she can try to stop me, I finish my "coffee" and sigh. "Please excuse me, Starbuck, I have a letter to write." I get up from my chair and leave the officers' mess.  
  
I walk to my quarters and close the hatch. It has been a long few weeks and an even longer last few days since my argument with the Commander. My bunk is looking awfully good right now, and I go to sit down. For a while there it looked bad, with about a quarter of the Galactica's crew affected as well as an eighth of the civilian fleet. Dan and his crew deserve a medal for this. I wonder if he would like the job of Fleet General Surgeon, or maybe he can be Galactica's new CMO.  
  
I have not seen Bill since that time in his quarters, several days ago. Not entirely his fault. I have been avoiding him. I feel like he rejected me and it hurts. I admit I was acting out of character, and it was not the best timing wise, but it was just a hug and a little kiss. Not like I jumped him in bed and demanded sex. It would probably be easier if all I wanted from Bill was sex, instead I have to go and want love from him. He pulled back, and if that isn't his statement of where he wants US to go then I'm not a doctor.  
  
He has come around the Life Station since then, but I have not been there, on purpose. I have not gone to ferret him out in CIC. He has been busy with keeping the Galactica running on minimal crew. I have been working in the Life Station or the Isolation Ward. Maybe he cannot be anything other than what he is, the Commander of Galactica. Maybe he has given me all he can. Too bad his friendship is not enough for me. The conversation with Starbuck was interesting, but if Bill had any questions on where he stands with me he should ask. I am not even going to think about marriage.  
  
Ahh Kylen, you always did have a bad track record with men. What made you think this was going to be any different? You always were a little too driven, a little too odd, a little too independent, a little too good at what you do, and now too needy. That's a first for me. Usually guys complain that I don't need them enough, I put my work first, yadda, yadda. Now when I find a man that I need, he doesn't need me. Who would have guessed that someday I would be the needy one? I would kill for a cup of real coffee right now, anything to cheer me up.  
  
I truly had never planned on leaving Colonial service. I had had my place at Fleet Hospital and I had loved my job. But Fleet Hospital is gone, and while I still love my job, I will not stay near Bill to keep it. I will not stay in a place where I would see him and have to interact with him almost every day. I open the buttons of my duty top while still sitting up on the side of my bunk. I look down and see my dog tags. I have worn them forever; it will be strange not wearing them.  
  
I get up from my bunk and go to my small desk and sit down to compose my resignation letter.  
  
A little later, there is a knock at my hatch, and I hear Bill's voice, "Doctor, can I come in?" He opens the hatch and stands there before I can even reply.  
  
I put my letter under some sheets of paper and turn to look at him. He is standing on the threshold and looking at me. "Mind if I come in?"  
  
I can count on one hand the times he's been here. I wonder who ratted me out. Would Starbuck be so devious? Is the current "coffee" dishwater with food coloring? I better let him come in and see what he wants. Hopefully I will be able to get him out of here relatively quickly. "Please. What brings you out of CIC? I know you're still on shift." I stand up and move over to my bunk while at the same time waving my hand in the direction of my vacated desk chair, indicating that he should sit there.  
  
To my surprise, he closes the hatch, walks over and sits beside me on the bunk. "Col. Tigh is covering for me. I wanted to see how you're doing. I figured that you would come here after your shift. I hear the patients are doing better." He puts an arm around me. I don't move away, but I don't move closer either.  
  
I am tired and do not want him here right now. I need to get him out of here. After I finish my letter, I will get some sleep. Then I will be ready to deal with Commander William Adama.  
  
I try to keep my voice even as I speak. "Well, as you can see I'm a little tired, nothing a good night's sleep won't cure. Otherwise all ok. All the patients are responding well to the antibody. The guys on the Dell did a great job. They saved us all. You know Dan, Dr. Janner, would make an excellent Fleet Surgeon General." I give him a bright smile and then continue, "I'll have a full report for you tomorrow mid-shift. So instead of trying to get the scoop why don't you wait for the official report and get back to CIC? Let a tired old gal get some beauty sleep."  
  
"Kylen, what's going on? You've been avoiding me." Gee, concern in his voice. I can feel myself getting angry. Where are the Cylons when you really need them? Hell an escaped Dr. Baltar and his invisible friend would do in a pinch.  
  
I give him a small smile and say again, "I've been very busy taking care of the patients. I heard you came by the Life Station, I just couldn't break away. Bill, I really am tired and need some sleep." He shifts closer to me. It feels nice, but I have already begun distancing myself from him since that incident in his quarters. I can no longer sit next to Bill. The feel of his body next to mine is like a tease, something dangled before me that I know I'll never reach.  
  
I stand up and move away from him, aimlessly pacing my quarters, my eyes avoiding his. I don't want to talk about US right now, but he's still sitting on my bunk and not moving. My anger continues to grow. Once again Bill's trying to control the situation. I need to get some sleep then I'll be able to have this conversation. If I start talking now I'll lose it and say things that I will regret. "Look, you came to see how I was. I'm fine. Now you can get back to work."  
  
"What's going on, Kylen?" His eyes follow me. Does he think I am going to go off the deep end like I did that one time long ago? Is he asking because he cares about me, or about his CMO? Do I even care at this point? My patience is wearing thin.  
  
"That's the second time you asked that question. Nothing is going on." I know he hears the frustration and anger in my voice  
  
"I don't believe that." I should have known he would be a hard man to get rid of. He is after all used to getting things his way. Well this is one thing that is going to be done my way.  
  
I spin around to confront him. I'm almost shouting at him. "Ok. Well how about this? I love you, Bill. I know when I first tried to talk about US you implied you didn't feel ready to have a romantic relationship with me. At the time, I was fine with that decision. I'm not fine with it now. Lords know the last time I was in your quarters you made it plain where WE stood. I want - No! I deserve more. I want more than a close friend. I want someone to share my life with. I need someone to be here for me, and who needs me too. I need someone who can hold me close when it gets bad and who wants me to return the favor. I'm tired of your schizophrenia, you say one thing but your actions say something else. I'm not a mind reader. So Bill, do you love me? Am I more than just your friend?"  
  
We are looking at each other. His stare is so intense, but I am not backing down. The silence stretches between us. He says nothing, either unable or unwilling to respond to what I have dropped before him. A minute ago I told him to leave, I bet he wishes he had. I know I'm not being fair by demanding an answer right now. I feel my anger drain away. In its place is peace, it's strange to feel peaceful when I am in the process of turning my whatevership with Bill into a nuclear wasteland.  
  
My voice is strangely calm as I begin again. "Have nothing to say, Bill? That's ok, I understand, I really do." I turn away so he can't see how much his silence, his lack of willingness to commit is hurting me. There is only one thing left to do now. Best make this cut with a scalpel; it usually starts bleeding way before you notice the pain. I continue on in that same calm voice. "Let me make this easy on you. I will be submitting my resignation from Colonial service tomorrow, and will be taking a position on the Lenna Dell. I can't deal with halves anymore. Please leave."  
  
I hear movement behind me and realize he is probably standing. His voice has the tone he uses when he gives an order. "You can't do that."  
  
I turn to face him. "Yes, I can. I put in all my required time years ago, Bill. So unless you are going to ask the president to change the laws to make serving in the fleet a lifelong commitment I can resign, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."  
  
By now we have moved closer to each other and are separated by only a few inches. He has me on height by five inches, but I have been short all my life and it will take a lot more than that to intimidate me. We stare at each other and while I have always been impressed by his "Command Stare", it does not affect me now. I think it surprises him; he has only seen hints of this stubborn person.  
  
"I won't accept it."  
  
"You don't have a choice."  
  
Most times I'm not really aware of his strength because he's always so careful around me. But when he grabs me and pulls me to him, I feel it. I also feel his anger. "I'm not letting you go, Kylen." and then he kisses me.  
  
I expect the kiss to be hard, an expression of his frustration and anger at me. It isn't. Bill is holding me against him with one arm tight around my body and a hand on the back of my neck. I'm pulled up almost onto my toes. He kisses me with an intensity that is frightening, but there is no anger there. His kiss is an exploration. At times deep and all consuming, and other times a mere tracery of my lips. My arms are trapped between my body and his. I can't move. When he finally lifts his head it's only for a moment so we can get a breath. His lips never really leave mine as he says my name, "Kylen."  
  
I'm saying his name when he kisses me again, "Bil..." This one is more intense as his tongue enters my mouth through my parted lips and begins a more thorough exploration. I'm not sure how long it lasts, but it seems over far too soon.  
  
He continues to hold me close. I can feel his rapid heartbeat. His breathing is fast. But then so is mine.  
  
I can only whisper, "Bill, this solves nothi..."  
  
"Shh." A finger is against my lips and he squeezes me hard for a second. Next thing I know I feel him begin to pick me up. "Bill! You're going to fall. Put me down NOW!" I have no idea how he does it but he manages to sit down on the side of my bunk, me in his lap. I look at him warily. His arms are around me keeping me in his lap. I want to move away. I feel too vulnerable sitting here.  
  
He is looking at me, his eyes a dark brown. "Lords, I've wanted to do that for a long time now."  
  
I continue looking at him, "Bill, I don't see how that kiss, nice as it was, changes anything. I love you. You may need me in some way but you don't love me, and I...."  
  
"I never said I didn't love you." What kind of a reverse logic is that? I take a minute to get over my shock at his statement before I reproach him saying, "You never said you did."  
  
"I tell you that every day." His lips are now against my neck. I feel their movement. A small light kiss just below my ear, and I give a slight shudder. He places a small bite in the same place and I again respond to it. His one hand moves to my neck gently holding my head in place while his other arm is wrapped tightly around me.  
  
I need to focus. "Last, ahhh, last I checked, I had perfect hearing and I never heard those words pass your lips." Those lips are tracing the edge of my ear, his breath is against it and I feel myself shifting in his arms unable to control my body's reaction to what he is doing.  
  
"You hear what I'm saying now don't you?" That low voice again causes me to shiver.  
  
"I can't think when you do that, Bill."  
  
"Maybe you should be doing less thinking and just feel." His breath is warm, even hot, and I fail to hold back the moan that leaves my lips as he takes my earlobe in his mouth and gives it a small nip.  
  
He turns my head as his light kisses trail across to my jaw line, to kiss my mouth. My arms finally come up to wrap around his neck. This kiss is not as hard but just as thorough as his last one. He breaks away for a second and as I take a breath he is there again. His tongue is inside my mouth learning it, tasting me, but I am returning the favor, and my tongue explores the unknown territory of his mouth. He tastes of that synthetic dishwater, something spicy, and just him. My right hand threads into the fine hair near his neck. I feel myself twist in his lap trying to move closer to him. My heart is racing.  
  
I have to stop this now. Sex is all fine and good but I want more from Bill. I have to know if he loves me, I need to hear him say those words. I pull back and say, "Bill, please stop."  
  
He is looking at me, waiting for me to continue. "I know what your actions are saying, Bill, but I need more. I need to hear the words. I need to be able to know where we stand with each other."  
  
"I'm not good with words, Kylen." I give him a disbelieving look; I heard that stirring speech after we jumped from Ragnar. "I mean, I am not good saying what I feel. As a Commander, it..."  
  
"It doesn't hold water, Bill; I'm a "commander" too. Yeah we don't go talking to subordinates about the intimate details of our lives; however, being in love with another person means you share. I will not play guessing games. I need for you to tell me how you feel about me."  
  
He is staring at me with his brown eyes. They are saying a lot but I want to hear it. He pulls me close and I hear his whisper against my ear, "I love you, Kylen."  
  
I pull back so I can look him in the eye. "You mean it? Really mean that you love me?"  
  
Bill and I are looking into each other's eyes as he replies, "Yes I mean it."  
  
"Is this just another one of my weird dreams? Or is this real?"  
  
He is starting to look and sound exasperated. "No dream, Kylen. This is real." His eyes narrow suddenly and he gets an intense look on his face. "You've had dreams about me?"  
  
I can't believe I just told him I have dreams about him. That ranks right up there with the bedroom voice comment in the "most stupid things I have ever said" column. I decide to try some evasive action to avoid answering that question. "So what now, Bill? Where do we go from here?"  
  
He shifts to bring us both back into my bunk, so we are eventually lying side-by-side. His arms keep me close and my head is on his shoulder. "We both get some sleep. Then you have dinner with me in my quarters. Bring your toothbrush, pajamas are optional."  
  
I get some leverage so I can look him in the eyes. "Isn't that moving rather fast, Commander?" Ok, I'm being coy, sue me.  
  
The arm holding me close to his body gives me a squeeze as he replies, "You know damn well we've been dating for months. First you throw yourself at me and now you're playing hard to get?"  
  
The man is delusional. I demand, "When did I throw myself at you?"  
  
He is wearing a smug expression when he replies, "Your birthday."  
  
"That was my way of saying thank you for that excellent birthday present."  
  
"I was lucky to still have my tonsils."  
  
"Oh for Lords sake. You didn't even open your mouth. I thought I was kissing a virgin. Besides I didn't hear you complaining."  
  
"Hard to complain when your lips are sealed. By-the-way, how many virgins have you kissed to give such an expert opinion?" I can only stare at the strange man who I am in bed with. He continues on, "Now get some sleep. Maybe you'll have some more of those dreams about me. That's an order. No one should bother us for a while." Smug devious bastard, but sweet.  
  
I really hate to spoil the mood, but I still feel on shaky ground by this turn of events. "We still have a lot of things to discuss, Bill." I get another squeeze and hear him say, "We will, after we get some sleep."  
  
His warmth seeps into my body and I find that I cannot stay awake. I go to sleep with the beat of his heart in my ear.  
  
End (for now) 


	9. Epilogue

This is an epilog to Standard of Care. I felt I had to give the Commander's side. This is officially a Commander Adama/Kylen romance. I give the rating a PG-13 maybe R. I want you all to know I cannot write a steamy scene to save my life. What I can say is my characters locked me in a room with no food or water until I wrote this. They are holding my horse and fish hostage. BSG characters I do not own, if I did I would be paid $$$ for this. Special thanks to Lona who corrects all my typos, gives me great ideas, and pesters me to no end if I don't send her something. The Lenna Dell is all mine MUHAHAHA!  
  
Standard of Care  
  
Epilog  
  
By Lt. Kathy "Doc"  
  
If anyone told me that I would be lying in bed holding a woman in my arms who is my CMO and who is thirteen years younger than me, I would have sent them for a fitness evaluation. But I am here, in her bed. She is a warm comfortable weight beside me.  
  
I remember back to before the Cylon attacks when I first heard the name Dr. Kylen Salik.  
  
Dr. Cross, my old CMO and I knew each other's habits and worked well together. After he asked for a meeting, we were seated at the conference table in my quarters. He said, "Commander, I've enjoyed serving under you these last five years, and would love to stay for the decommissioning ceremony, but because of civilian commitments, I will be unable to, especially given that the decommissioning has been postponed another seven weeks. I would never leave you without a CMO so I've talked with Picon Fleet Medical. I hope you don't mind."  
  
It wasn't a big problem, but I didn't like the idea of the Galactica without a CMO even for such a short period of time. Life has taught me that emergencies or disasters rarely give anyone a heads-up. Yet, I didn't want to interfere with his plans for his new civilian practice, living with his wife near their kids and grandchildren. I decided to see if he had any ideas and asked, "No, but what arrangements can be made? Who can we get for a short assignment?"  
  
He smiled and with a voice full of wonder said, "I have no idea how this happened, but Fleet Medical sent me a message this morning informing me that the head of Trauma & Critical Care at Picon Fleet Hospital, a Dr. Salik, will be filling in as your CMO until the Galactica is formally decommissioned."  
  
That was good news. "Good. Anything I should know?"  
  
"Dr. Salik, from what I understand is brilliant, very intense, and demanding. She was made a division head at Fleet Hospital in record time, and during her three-year tenure has made Fleet Hospital one of the best throughout the twelve Colonies for Trauma and Critical Care. From what I hear, she is considered a rising star."  
  
I had no idea then what Doctor Salik's temporary posting would lead to.  
  
I first met her when she reported to me for duty in my office. She was shorter than I expected, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a calm voice. There was nothing to indicate the person Dr. Cross had described or what I had read in her forwarded personnel records. I had expected a whirlwind, an intense individual who would turn the Galactica upside down in her last few weeks as a real battlestar. To me, Dr. Salik didn't look like a woman who would even disturb the dust on my bookshelves.  
  
Those were famous last words. After only a few days reports began to cross my desk about various upgrades needed in the Life Station. It was nothing out of the ordinary. We did have one tense interaction when she wanted to look into integration of the Life Station's computer system, but after a discussion where I did most the discussing, she backed down.  
  
Next thing I know a medical report arrived on my desk revoking Starbuck's flight status. It's all proper and within Fleet guidelines. The damn forms were even filled out in triplicate. If Starbuck was aware of this, things were going to get ugly. I knew Starbuck would put our temporary CMO in her own Life Station, as a patient. I went down to the Life Station to see if I could mediate. Instead I saw Dr. Salik giving Starbuck an ultimatum. Not only that but in a not-so-subtle way she let Capt. Spencer and myself know that she was not backing down on her order and that neither one of us had better interfere. Before Dr. Kylen Salik, no one had ever given me an order on my own ship that didn't have the rank of Admiral in front of his or her name. But according to Fleet law, she was within her rights. I couldn't overturn it.  
  
Intense and high powered indeed.  
  
That turned out to be only the beginning. What followed next was an inventory of all medic kits and disaster pods. There were also formal emergency medic training and medical disaster drills. I was hearing a lot of grumbling from Saul. Surprisingly, not so much from Chief Tyrol although his deck crews were certainly being drilled as much as those in CIC and other ship areas. I later found out that Chief Tyrol had asked Dr. Salik for assistance transferring my old Mark II viper on board Galactica using non-standard "Fleet Connections".  
  
I met with her once to ask the reason for all the intense drills and inventory given that the Galactica was being turned into a frak'n museum. Her answer was an echo of my own thoughts. "Commander, while the Galactica is to be decommissioned soon, until that time this ship needs to be medically ready to handle any disaster or assist in an emergency. Emergencies or disasters rarely give advanced notice." I told her to carry on with my blessing.  
  
The day of the Cylon attacks I never had to think about emergency medical problems, it ran like clock work. As we engaged the enemy, there was no confusion as to where med pacs were located, or how to use what was in them. Dr. Salik occasionally updated Saul about ship casualties and medical issues but it was all in the background and did not interfere with our protection of the civilian fleet as we FTLed away from Ragnar.  
  
After the jump from Ragnar, I began to make visiting the Life Station a semi-regular stop. I usually know everything that goes on in the Galactica. It was only a matter of time before my intelligence network picked up information about Dr. Salik. It tuned out that my CMO was a coffee aficionado. Well, actually a bit more than that, a coffee addict. She had managed to bring her own supply of coffee on board through what I can only describe as non-standard "Fleet Channels". The coffee was not pre- ground but whole beans. She ground the beans fresh each time she made a cup. It wasn't just any brand either but that really expensive extra- smooth Picon Mountain Blue. I love my coffee as much as anyone, but I have learned to drink what is available. Any kind of coffee was becoming scarce in the fleet. When I learned that I had a person onboard who had high quality hard-to-get coffee and even ground her own beans, I knew I had to take advantage of it. It paid off too. Damn, the woman made one fine cup of coffee.  
  
I still have no idea why I asked her to dinner that first time all those months ago. Perhaps, it was a reaction to my participation in the birth of a new human after so much death and destruction. I don't think the small glass of ambrosia she gave me was to blame. As I asked I was asking myself what the hell I was doing. I never eat in the mess.  
  
When I met her later in the corridor, she still looked tired. In the mess hall I had a new experience, when she told me what to eat. Half the time she would just reach out and place a food item on my tray without even asking me. But it was her bedroom voice comment that brought me up short. Interesting, she liked my voice. Vanity thy name is male. I think it was then that a small part of me began asking what other things she might like. She was well read and had an interest similar to mine in art. Overall she was an excellent dinner companion. Except for the Dr. Baltar side bar. At first I couldn't figure out what was her interest in him, and if I was honest with myself, irritated that he seemed to capture her attention. Her subsequent explanation restored my good mood, but I made a mental note to have Saul keep closer tabs on Baltar. I tried not to question my irritation and subsequent good mood too closely.  
  
After Baltar attacked and injured Kylen, it was almost too easy to start spending time with her, reading her books, and later going to the gym for exercise and to help with her rehabilitation. The first time she tried to use a weight machine to work her arm I laughed so hard I lost my balance and fell down. I couldn't remember when I had last laughed like that. I hadn't been doing that much for myself since the Cylon attacks. I had forgotten how good it felt to exercise, and how enjoyable it was to sit and read something other than reports, to have someone to talk over small stuff with. Kylen helped me remember.  
  
For months, I had shouldered the burden of command. I didn't complain, it was and is my job. But I had forgotten how to enjoy life, the simple pleasure of being with another person and not being the Commander. I had forgotten how good it felt to spend time with a woman who didn't call me sir all the time. Even when we are in public together and she uses my title, it sounds different, almost like an endearment.  
  
Teaching her to box was my most brilliant idea to date. I can tell she doesn't like it much, but humors me. It was during one of our boxing sessions that I first heard her call me a "devious bastard". I just laughed although she looked like she thought I was going to court martial her for it.  
  
When I saw her that night in the Life Station standing there in her scrubs, I knew something bad was going on. I saw a lot of Battle fatigue when I served in the first war. I had just finished my shift in CIC and decided to swing by the Life Station. Earlier, I had been notified about the accident so I figured I would find Kylen there, and check up on Crewman Harper.  
  
I saw her as soon as I entered the mostly dark Life Station. I had never seen Kylen so distant, so cut off. The comment she later made in my quarters about blood on her hands was more alarming being said in a toneless voice. Thank the Lords that she had instinctively followed my commands and let me take her to my quarters.  
  
When she came out of my bathroom she looked even more tiny and lost in my clothes, her short brown hair wet. The only thing I knew to do was to hold her in my arms and let her grieve. I knew she was grieving for the loss of a patient, I was surprised to find out she was also grieving the loss of technology and other services that would help her do her job. Despite what she said I was certain she had done her best period.  
  
Underneath my concern was the thought that it felt right holding her. That first night in my bed, I knew that she was more than a friend. I was beginning to care for her, a lot. I watched her sleep, and was relieved when she awoke and told me she was going to be ok. I had always called her Doctor, except in my private thoughts where she is Kylen. Lying in my bed with her was the first time I allowed myself to say her name out loud. I loved the way she said my name.  
  
I stayed awake after she returned to sleep, shocking myself by wondering how she would look in my bed without my sweats on, and naked after making love. I imagined how her skin would feel, the sounds she would make. I hadn't thought about a woman in that way since my divorce. Even as I was thinking about her I was chiding myself, "Stupid old man, what would she ever see in you? She's an officer under your command for frak sake." I eventually fell asleep, but when I awoke, she was a warm soft weight against me. I could feel the effect the morning and her presence had on me. She didn't even move when I got out of bed to shower, change and get started on some reports.  
  
I watched her asleep in my bed. She looked "right" there. When she told me she was thinking about me, I was surprised, surprised and pleased. Touching her, even through my old sweats was a pleasure I could not deny myself. When she said I was special it took all my will power not to take her in my arms. Our subsequent conversation didn't surprise me. Kylen tends to be direct. I knew what she was trying to say. I was still trying to deal with my thoughts and feelings from the previous night, and didn't want to try and discuss them until I could figure out what in the Lords of Kobol I was going to do. When she let me off the hook I breathed a sigh of relief. I did know one thing, I was not ready to let this woman out of my life.  
  
I love touching her. Which is why I guess I do it. She had complained about my reluctance to have her touch me. It wasn't because I didn't want her to but because of my own reaction to her touch. I'm still not sure what there is that draws her to me, I've been in the Fleet all my adult life. I don't consider myself a "catch" after one failed marriage, a son who only now I am getting close to after a two-year separation, and another son dead, in part because of me. She could do much better with someone who is closer to her own age and who can at least understand her job. Sometimes when she talks about her work I listen but really only understand about every third sentence.  
  
I think her intelligence is frightening. One evening she was sitting on my couch with her legs crossed beneath her and in her lap was some needlepoint she was working on. Her hands were flying, but she wasn't looking at what she was working on but on a paper on the couch beside her. Every so often she stopped her needle work to pick up a pen and make notations. When I asked her what she was doing, Kylen said, "Dan and I are starting up a medical journal so the scientists can publish some of their research. I'm just reading a submission and making notations and corrections."  
  
The first time I thought she might actually want me too was when she read that ridiculous romance book. But I was too afraid to act on it. I was not too afraid to get her to sit beside me. Her theories and insights on those trashy romances she reads showed me a Kylen that the world never sees. She is a hopeless romantic at heart. Over the first few weeks of the epidemic I wanted her so much it hurt. But she was worn out and distracted all the time, and it seemed best just to keep her close. I did what I could to help her through it.  
  
To me it seemed selfish, wanting her in my bed. That first time when I ran into her in the corridor was a spur of the moment idea. Later when she fell asleep in my bed I decided to sleep too. She fits nicely against me. After that first time I was like an addict. I would plan to "accidentally" run into her. When she started keeping some things in my quarters, it made the place different. I would be in the middle of a meeting with Saul and see a pair of earrings sitting on the shelf near the bunk, or a stray book about something called 'High Flow Oscillating Ventilation' (whatever that is) and 'Diffuse Lung Damage.'  
  
That night when I was dealing with civilian unrest due to the epidemic and she wrapped her arms around me and spoke in my ear, I felt arousal move through me like wildfire. It was sudden, swift and hot. I wanted her but I reacted badly. I ended up giving her the "just-be-friends" speech when I really wanted to take her in my arms and to my bed and not let her go until I had learned everything I could about her body.  
  
I was fighting myself and in the process I hurt her. As I made my speech I could see her shock and pain. I wanted to take the words back and make it all better. I could physically see her backing away from me, wounded from my words and actions. I knew she had been letting me take the lead; I also knew how hard it must have been for someone like her to give up control. I tried to make up for my harsh words but was too late.  
  
That of course led to these last few days of hell. I usually can find anyone I want to on my ship. She has proved that theory wrong. Kylen Salik can be a damned hard woman to find when she doesn't want to be.  
  
Leave it to Starbuck to have the most up-to-date recon. I should promote her to captain for this.  
  
Starbuck caught me a few hours ago in CIC. After a quick salute she asked if I could talk to her, in private. I got Saul to cover for me and had Starbuck follow me to the ward room. I thought it had something to do with Lee and her. It didn't. She was nervous, but determined about something. Finally Starbuck said she had just talked with Kylen and that my sweet CMO thought that I didn't care for her and that I just wanted to be friends. Kylen had told Starbuck that she'd fallen in love with me and that she was planning on quitting the service and leaving the Galactica.  
  
In love with me. In Love With Me. That one sentence is all I could focus on until Starbuck mentioned about Kylen planning to leave the Galactica. Like hell she will.  
  
Starbuck pointed out that if I didn't do something about this now it would be too late and she muttered something about damn stubborn Adama men. I asked where Kylen was. Starbuck told me she was in her quarters, probably writing a letter of resignation. After that all Starbuck said was, "Excuse me for saying so, Sir. But, make this right between you. She makes you happy."  
  
I hope Lee is more intelligent than his father and does not screw up what he and Starbuck have. Women like Starbuck don't come along every day.  
  
Saying "I love you" to Kylen was the hardest thing I have done in a while. It was also hopefully the smartest. This wasn't like when I was younger, and romance was all fire and heat. What Ilyia and I had had was wonderful, but we'd had only intense short periods of being together followed by my long duty shifts away from home.  
  
This relationship with Kylen started more slowly and built on thousands of small day-to-day interactions. When Kylen said that had I gotten under her walls, she has no idea the fortifications she had passed to get to me. Sharing morning coffee or as she calls it now "synthetic dishwater", discussing literature, talking about art over dinner, listening to her curse at me while I refine her boxing technique, oh and reading me that romance novel when I couldn't see. That was a new one. I almost stopped her when she started reading but then decided I wanted to see how far she would take it. After that it was just a matter of deciding what would be a fitting way to "have my revenge". She is the only one I know who can take an insult like "devious bastard" and turn it into her pet name for me. That I think it's cute says a lot about my feelings for her.  
  
Now it is morning. I'm still here in her quarters and her bed. Despite my words last night, we both were so tired we have slept through the night. We have a little time, but not much.  
  
I affectionately watch her awaken from sleep. She asks me, "What time is it?"  
  
"Almost time to get ready for shift. But we have about an hour."  
  
"So much for the 'pajamas optional' invitation."  
  
"I guess we were both more tired than we thought." I have an idea, and hope she'll go along with it.  
  
I move so now she is under me. I am supporting some of my weight on one of my arms, but our lower bodies are pressed together. The change in position has put my body between her legs. I watch her flush slightly and bite her lip as I feel her press up against me, in an almost uncontrolled response. Lords but she feels good. I can feel my body react to her actions. My free hand slides under her open uniform jacket and then pulls the tee shirt tails from her pants. I make a promise to myself that the next time she's in bed with me she will not be in uniform or scrubs. She shivers when I finally touch her skin. She is looking me in the eyes when she says, "Bill, you'd better not be starting something you do not plan on finishing."  
  
Her eyes are wide and dark brown. Her breathing has increased noticeably with my simple exploration.  
  
"Just a little something to help you wake up Kylen."  
  
I scoot over and pull her on top of me. She can leave if she wants, but stays pressed against me. Meanwhile, her arms are now around my neck and her mouth is soft and open as we kiss. Both my hands are under her shirts, tracing over the bare skin of her back. Her skin is soft and a pleasure to touch. The material of her bra is in the way of my exploration. I move a hand around to her side and in-between our bodies, I slide it under the material of her bra. She arches against me. I let my fingers roam over the sensitive flesh and feel how responsive she is to my touch. I am so lost in the feeling of her skin and her mouth that I almost don't notice when her body begins to move against mine in a rhythmic pattern, her breathing is fast and hard, I can feel her heart racing. She tears her mouth away "Bill."  
  
I ease my hands away and pull her close to me. She is trembling in my arms. "Shh." That went a hell of a lot farther than I had planned.  
  
This little make-out session has had an effect on me as well. I think I will be taking a cold shower this morning. First time for that in a while. Damn, I'm going to have to get to my quarters first. Next time we are "sleeping" in my quarters.  
  
I decide to try and inject some levity into this little romantic fiasco, and Kylen's comment from last night about kissing a virgin pops into my mind. "So about that virgin comment."  
  
Kylen's breathing and her heartbeat have slowed but are still faster than normal. Her voice has a low husky tone as she states, "I should kill you for what you just did to me."  
  
"Sorry, I got a little carried away. I love touching your skin."  
  
Her eyes do not meet mine and she is quiet. Whether it is from our little foreplay or from what I have just told her I'm not sure. Could she be embarrassed? I know she doesn't see herself as pretty. I have heard her describe herself as average. True she is not what most would consider drop- dead gorgeous, but it is her vitality, her personality, her wit and I don't know else that makes her beautiful in my eyes. Then again, I'm nothing great to look at either with these scars from my viper accident. I long ago became used to seeing them in the mirror, but she has to look at them all the time.  
  
"I wish I could say you can use my shower, but only the Commander has a private head. On the topics of showers as your doctor I would recommend a very cold one."  
  
I chuckle. Not much gets past her, although, this would be hard to miss. "No kidding. Give me a few minutes and I'll leave you in peace to get ready. What's your schedule like tonight? We have a lot to discuss."  
  
She is looking into my eyes giving me her "Medical Stare of Disbelief" as she replies, "Discussion, is that what they call it now a days?"  
  
The End 


End file.
